


The Falcon's Last Cry

by Zaqwer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaqwer/pseuds/Zaqwer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jon Arryn is able to tell Robert of Cersei and Jaime's relationship before he dies. A conflict between the Baratheons and Lannisters breaks out, setting the stage for another war for the Iron Throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a little idea I had kicking around my head. I hope you enjoyed this little teaser and stick around for what's to come. 
> 
> I have already posted this on ff.net and ah.com.
> 
> Feedback is welcome!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is in the process of being updated with the intention of continuing it. Any feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Updated 1/2/17

Jon awoke suddenly from his troubled fever sleep. He gasped sharply feeling cold sweat dripping from his body, soaking the bedspreads. His strength was almost gone from him now.

The Lannister woman had done her work well. He had barely noticed the first couple of hours, only a sharp twinge in the stomach had alerted him that something was amiss. Coleman had tried his best, but then Pycelle had intervened and finished the woman’s work. Jon had felt his strength fall further and further away as the Grand Maester worked his “healing” herbs.

He had to tell Robert, his boy had to know what the Queen had done.  _The seed is strong_. Robert would have to take action quickly.

“Robert…” he croaked, and miraculously the King was there at his bedside.

“Jon! You still live!” It was a whisper, but the boy Jon had watched become a man and his King could not keep the joy or the sadness from his voice.

“The seed is strong…” Jon whispered hoarsely. Then in a moment of clarity he remembered what must be done. “Are we… alone?” he asked feebly.

“All but Pycelle,” Robert replied tears threatening to spill from his blue eyes.  _Blue, not green, why didn’t we notice before?_

“We need… private…” Jon muttered. His strength was failing him. He needed to speak to Robert before he lost consciousness again.

“You heard the Hand! You are dismissed!”

And then Pycelle was there, stroking his luxurious beard. “Your Grace,” he began, and though he did his best to appear calm, Jon thought he saw a hint of unease in Maester’s eyes. “Lord Arryn needs rest if he is to recover. I should stay with him in order to---”

“I don’t fucking care what you say Jon needs! I am the bloody King and I wish to speak to my Hand! Now get out before I call the guards!” Robert roared, and Pycelle hurriedly grabbed potions, nearly tripping on his way out the door. When Robert turned back to him, Jon saw that the tears had fallen; the King’s bushy black beard was dripping.

“I’m sorry Jon, I should have listened to you more, I should have been a better King,” Robert was bawling now. Jon raised a quivering hand and managed to grab hold of Robert.

“Listen to me now, Robert. Cersei…the children…the seed is strong…” But it was no use; he didn’t have the strength anymore. He couldn’t fit the words together.  _No! I must tell him! I can do this last thing for my boy!_

 Gathering up his strength he began again. “Cersei’s children are not yours, Robert. Her… she and the Kingslayer… green eyes and golden hair… not black… it’s all in the book…” Robert was looking confused.  _I need more time! He needs to understand!_  But the darkness was pulling him down again. “Stannis!” he gasped, yes Lord Stannis would be able to help his brother, he had been the one to come to Jon in the first place.

“What about Stannis? What’s he got to do with Cersei?”

“Stannis… he knows… the book… the bastards…he can help you Robert.   Don’t trust her… they’re the Kingslayer’s not yours… she’s killed me Robert…” Jon trailed off, his strength faltering. But he had done it. Above him, Robert’s face slowly drained of color as he finally grasped what Jon was saying.

Jon’s vision swam. He saw Robert as he had looked in years gone by, a young man playing in the Eyrie with Ned. Jon had protected him then; he must do the same now. And then Jon saw the other children… Ned, Elbert, Denys, even his own Robert. They were all so young, so pure, not yet corrupted by the Game. And finally he saw the Lannister children. Joffrey always anxious for his father’s praise; Myrcella, such a perfect polite little lady; and Tommen, sweet little Tommen who would never hurt a fly, scampering down the passageways with a wooden sword.

“Promise me Robert, promise you’ll look after the children…” The darkness was closing around him, but he thought he heard, through the sobs, Robert’s voice, “I promise Jon, I promise…”


	2. Stannis I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 1/2/17

The Hand was dead. The rumors had been flying all night, and there could be only one reason for Stannis to be summoned by the King at such an early hour.  _Damn that woman! How had she found out so quickly?_

Stannis hurried through the passages of the Red Keep, the sun had barely risen over Blackwater Bay and the low light cast long shadows across the corridor.  _I‘ll need to get out of this nest of vipers soon, before she comes for me._ But first he would have to deal with his oaf of a brother.

The summons had come while Stannis was tossing about in bed, still unable to sleep. Stannis had hurriedly changed out of his nightwear fumbling around in the semi-darkness for appropriate mourning colors. 

The King rarely ever convened the Small Council on his own and never until the sun was high in the sky.  Even stranger, Robert had called for the Council to meet in his personal solar, something that Stannis could not recall any precedent for. 

Increasingly anxious, Stannis headed up towards the Royal Chambers, moving far more quickly than he would otherwise. In his nervous state, every shadow became an assassin, every statue one of the Queen’s creatures.  Rounding a corner, Stannis nearly walked into a dark figure looming in the shadows, causing him to jump violently and utter a rather undignified little yelp.

 “The King desires your immediate presence in his chambers, Lord Stannis.” It was the Kingsguard, Mandon Moore. The strange, lifeless eyes watched him dispassionately.

“What’s going on? Why me personally?” Stannis asked his prickle of unease growing stronger by the second.

“The King demands your presence in his chambers,” was the only reply those eyes gave him.

Hurrying on, Stannis could barely help himself from glancing over his shoulder every few steps.  Finally, he arrived at the door to Robert’s chambers, quite out of breath. Ser Barristan Selmy stood at the door. Very peculiar, there were rarely fewer than three Kingsguard surrounding Robert at all times.  _What is going on here?_

Ser Barristan gave him a cursory glance, then cracked open the door to the rooms within. “Your Grace, Lord Stannis has arrived.”

“Send him in,” Robert’s voice came through, though it sounded rather hoarser than it had the previous day. “And come in yourself, Ser Barristan. And lock the door behind you.”

With a slightly bemused look, Selmy held the door for Stannis and then entered the King’s chambers behind him. Stannis found himself in his brother’s solar, a large table set up in the middle with several chairs around it. The tabletop was scattered with goblets and empty wineskins, the King himself was sitting amidst the clutter, nursing a flagon of what appeared to be Arbor Gold. And next to Robert was Renly, looking as confused as Stannis felt.

“Ah, Stannis,” Renly said, getting to his feet. “Perhaps you will be able to explain why I have been summoned here at so early an hour. Our dear brother has refused to say anything until you arrived.”

“Why me? And where is the rest of the Council?” Stannis asked, knowing that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

“You’re the only ones in this fucking city that I can fucking trust,” Robert slurred.  An awkward silence met this declaration, broken finally by a small cough from Barristan.

“Be that as it may Your Grace,—"

“Jon’s dead.” Robert said, still staring off into space. His speech was rather slurred and he clutched the flagon of wine tighter. Stannis noted that the King’s eyes were still red and puffy. Clearly he had tried to drown his grief in wine.  _He sheds more tears for his foster father than he ever did for his true father_ , Stannis thought rather bitterly.

Ser Barristan stepped forward hesitantly. “Ah, Your Grace…? Perchance you’ve had enough wine…?”

“We’re not here to talk about my bloody wine,” Robert growled. “We’re here about Cersei.”

 _Cersei? How had Robert found out about that?_ Stannis glanced at Renly and Ser Barristan; they both seemed taken aback by this pronouncement. Clearly, whatever they had expected it had not been this.

“You. Stannis. Jon said something about Cersei and bastards and said you would help. Also something about some book or other. Know what he meant?” Robert glared at him, seemingly daring him to say what he knew.

Stannis swallowed nervously. He felt all the eyes in the room turn to him.  _Damn him! I didn’t want to tell him like this! I wanted…I wanted…_ But however he had wanted to tell Robert, the fact remained that here he was demanding answers now. Lord Arryn was dead and now Stannis had to tell the King why.

“Your Grace, I have had, ah, suspicions for some time that the Princes Joffrey and Tommen and the Princess Myrcella are not your trueborn heirs, but bastards born of incest between the Queen and her brother.” Renly and Barristan seemed startled, but Robert just nodded, as if he had been expecting it.

“I brought my suspicions to Lord Arryn in the hopes that he could help me confirm or deny my misgivings,”  _That was not entirely true_ , Stannis reflected,  _he had been hoping Jon Arryn would make the claim seem more credible._ Robert would be less forgiving towards his brother than the Hand, and it would not look good for an uncle to slander his niece and nephews thereby making him heir to the Iron Throne. “The Hand and I tracked down a number of your bastards and found that all of them had your hair and eyes as opposed to their mothers’. And with all the Queen’s children having only her look, we deduced that they could not be yours. Lord Arryn mentioned that he would look into the past history of Lannister-Baratheon children. That was yesterday. He is dead now.” Stannis hesitated, should he tell Robert his suspicions about Jon Arryn’s death _? He probably thinks she did it anyway._ “I suspect the Lannisters may have discovered what Lord Arryn knew and poisoned him to keep his mouth shut.” Now all he could do was hope Robert didn’t take it too hard.

“That fucking bitch! The lying whore of a bitch! She killed Jon! Godsdamn it, I should have known! She’s always been so cold, never coming to my bed!” Robert was shouting now. “And that whoreson of a Kingsguard! He’ll bloody well get what’s coming to him! Thinks he can cuckold me, eh? I’ll smash his pretty little face in! Where’s my fucking warhammer!?”

Robert let out a guttural roar and with one movement cleared the table of all the various pitchers and goblets. Glass and ceramics shattered and smashed. A single chalice rolled towards Stannis’ foot, dark red wine leaking out into puddle.

Robert was panting now, staring at Stannis with the same intensity as before. Grief and rage were written bold across the King’s features. Breathlessly, in a would-be-calm voice he said, “So, what’s the plan?”


	3. Petyr

Lord Petyr Baelish strode into Renly Baratheon’s solar whistling. As the Master of Coin seated himself, the youngest Baratheon sibling turned from the window, his typical smile seeming a tad more forced than usual.   Renly was wearing a dark cloak, appropriate for the death of the Hand, yet quite well-made and fashionable.

“Ah, good, Lord Baelish, you’ve arrived.”

Petyr looked up at Renly with a politely bemused expression. He of course knew what this was about, but Renly didn’t have to know that.   He hadn’t expected such quick developments from the Lord Arryn’s death, but it was gratifying to see a plan come to fruition.

“Lord Baelish, in light of recent events… a certain… situation has arisen that needs to be dealt with.” It was amusing to see Renly, normally so confident, fumbling for words. “It would be of great help to myself and others if the Red Keep were secured later tonight. Rest assured I have the King’s support in this matter.”

“Lord Renly, I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit clearer as to what you wish me to do. I am merely the Master of Coin from a small house of no standing. I cannot command armies with a mere word unlike some.” Petyr smiled to himself. He already had this information, but it wouldn’t hurt for Renly to confirm it for him.

Renly sighed, “I need you to deliver the Gold Cloaks to me by this evening. They are needed for important…security reasons.” Renly looked strained; he was obviously unused to this sort of conspiratorial work. _Poor boy, he has no idea what he’s dealing with, time for some fun._

“Now, what could King Robert possibly want with the City Watch?” Petyr queried innocently. “Could it be because he fears for his safety in his own castle? No, surely the Kingsguard will protect him. Perhaps he wishes for more pikes on the walls? But there are plenty of Lannister guardsmen for that. Or maybe the King needs some important people…taken care of, shall we say?” At this Renly visibly paled. “Yes I think I may have found the reason.”

“Lord Baelish, I can assure you---”

“Yes, I am quite assured thank you Lord Renly. But why have you come to me? What services can the Master of Coin perform that the Master of Laws cannot? It is you, not I, who commands the City Watch.   Or do I have it backwards?”

Petyr saw a flicker of anger in Renly’s eyes, the likeness to his eldest brother became uncanny. Then it was gone, replaced by the usual genial expression. “Lord Baelish, we both know that the Gold Cloaks are no better than sellswords. I’m asking you to make sure they sell their swords to the King.”

And there it was. The true reason that they needed Petyr Baelish. He had long ago learned that he who held the purse, held the power. And Littlefinger was the one with the purse. They thought they were using him, but they were the true pieces, being manipulated by the player in the shadows.

“Very good, I believe I can get you what you need.” Petyr stood and made to leave, but stopped one hand on the door. “Half the City Watch will report to the Red Keep at sundown.”

“Half?!” came the startled response behind him.

“Of course, the other half will need to man the city walls to see no news escapes of the Queen’s arrest.” And with that, Lord Petyr Baelish exited the room and closed the door behind him.

How simple it had been, he reflected.   Soon the Lannisters would be discredited and he would have played an integral part on behalf of the King. He could expect handsome rewards for his leal service. Chaos was coming, and Petyr Baelish would use that chaos to climb higher.

He would meet with Janos Slynt in one of his brothels, near the Iron Gate. Slynt was a greedy, arrogant and frog-faced man. But he was also the Commander of the City Watch and very open to the occasional bribe. And that made Slynt Littlefinger’s man. Petyr had sent word to the Commander to be ready for something big. Soon, very soon, the nest of hornets that was King’s Landing would erupt. And Littlefinger would be in the center of it.

The others all spoke of laws of succession and the sizes of levies, but Petyr knew the truth. True power came not from crowns or from bannermen, but _gold_. They could have their precious honor, that was not what made them powerful. A man would sell his own mother for enough coin, and as the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish had more than any of them. He who held the purse, held the power. Let the nobles smash each other to bits. He would be backstage, quietly making his own moves.


	4. Barristan

The night was quiet, for the moment at least. Ser Barristan stood in the corridor outside the White Sword Tower, waiting.   Barristan was on edge, he was used to dealing with threats he could see, none of this conspiracy business. His tunic was slick with sweat under his armor, and his stomach was tied up in knots. As the Lord Commander stared down the deserted passageway, he thought back on the hectic events of the past day.  

It had begun in a similar manner to most other days. Awoken by his Sworn Brother, Barristan had crawled from his bed ready to do his duty to his King, his bones creaking and moaning as he did so. _When had he gotten to be so old? Surely he had been the young knight who had slain Maelys the Monstrous in single combat_ _only a few short years ago?_

When Barristan had made his way over to the King’s apartments, he had found Robert weeping over a flagon of wine. Being a good Kingsguard, Barristan had given him space to grieve over the loss of Lord Arryn. The Hand’s sudden death had clearly come as a deep blow for the King.

That was when Ser Barristan had noticed the oddness of the situation. He was the only Kingsguard around. He was tempted to try and find where his Sworn Brothers had gone, but his first duty was to the King. Then first Lord Renly, then Lord Stannis had arrived and suddenly Barristan knew this was no ordinary meeting.

When Stannis had revealed the truth about the Queen and her children, Barristan had been stunned. _How could such a thing be possible?_ Barristan knew Jaime Lannister was not truly worthy of a white cloak, but to cuckold the King he had sworn to protect and defend, with his own sister no less? At first he had refused to believe it, but the more he had considered the matter, the more he was forced to realize it was not only possible, but probable. Ser Jaime had never shown much loyalty to the King, preferring to spend his time with his sister. The more Barristan thought on the matter, he remembered many times when Jaime had petitioned him for more time guarding the Queen. And of course, everyone had noticed how much more the royal children resembled their mother than their father.  

Barristan couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the Queen, though. She had been forced to endure Robert’s drunken ways for years, could not even protest when he shamed her by bringing some whore he’d found into his bed. Barristan had even recently seen the King strike his wife in a drunken rage, and was uncomfortably reminded of Aerys Targaryen.   But Barristan had banished such disloyal thoughts from his mind. His duty was to the King, and besides no matter what Robert had done to her, Cersei should have stayed faithful to him.

When Robert’s fury at the news had cooled somewhat, he and his brothers had begun to devise a scheme to arrest the Queen and her brother. Barristan stayed back and listened, his duty was to guard the King, not advise him. But when the talk had turned to Cersei’s bastards, Barristan felt the need to speak up.

“Your Grace, is it really wise to punish the children for the crimes of their parents? They probably have no clue as to their true origin. They have committed no crimes beyond being born, and surely you cannot fault them for that? Just… just leave them be, Your Grace,” Barristan finished awkwardly.

Lord Stannis had looked a bit taken aback by his outburst, but replied smoothly “Ser Barristan, I know you mean well, but you must remember that these children could represent a threat to the throne. They need to be taken into custody more to prevent anyone using them than anything they themselves might do.”  

“And then what will become of them, Lord Stannis? Will you simply release them, once their bastardy is proven?” Given the wrath still plainly evident on Robert’s face, Barristan doubted this would be the case. No, more likely they would be sent to the Wall or the Faith, if Robert didn’t decide to straight up execute them.  

“For the gods sake, Selmy!” Robert had bellowed, “What do you expect me to do? Their very existence is treason! That bitch, when I get a hold of her…” Robert trailed off muttering.

Lord Renly stepped up then “Look Barristan, it’s not as though we like the idea any more than you but, well, these children are bastards. Do I need to remind you of the Blackfyre Rebellion? Isn’t it better for a few to suffer rather than the chaos and destruction of war?”

Barristan had no other choice. He got down and kneeled before the King. “Your Grace, I have served you faithfully for fifteen years. I fought against you at the Trident, but when I was wounded and near death, you sent your maesters to me, and raised me up as your Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I have never asked anything of you since that day, but now I beg of you. Spare these children. They are innocent. For the Seven’s sake, they have called you father since the time they learned to speak. I beseech you, Your Grace, take care of your children.”

Something seemed to touch a nerve in Robert.   “Very well,” his voice was subdued, sounding almost ashamed. “I give you my word that no harm shall come to them while I have power to stop it.”

*      *      *      *      *

The sound of muffled footsteps startled Barristan from his thoughts. Ser Arys Oakheart rounded the corner with several Baratheon men-at-arms and a dozen Gold Cloaks at his back. Spying him, Ser Arys hurried over. The night would be quiet no more.

“I brought the men like you said, Lord Commander. Can you tell me what this is all about, now?” Arys was a fine knight, a bit young and overeager, but a good sword nonetheless. Barristan had had trouble trusting the other members of the Kingsguard after the revelation about the Kingslayer, but he had decided that he must trust his other Sworn Brothers to honor their oaths to the King. Barristan had already sent Ser Mandon Moore to arrest the Grand Maester, who Stannis and Renly seemed sure was in cahoots with the Lannisters, and Ser Preston, Ser Boros, and Ser Meryn to take Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen to a secure location. Only Ser Jaime had not been assigned a post tonight, he was presumably still in his cell in the White Sword Tower.

“Certainly, Ser Arys, we are going to arrest the Kingslayer.”

They entered the Tower quickly and Ser Barristan led the group up the stairs to Ser Jaime’s room. Bursting into the chamber, Barristan found the Kingslayer sitting on his cot, dressed in his golden armor, sharpening his sword. He was not wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Barristan stepped into the small room, the others fanning out behind him.  

“Ah, Ser Barristan, I was wondering if I might see you tonight.”

“Kingslayer. You are under arrest for treason against the Crown. You are to come with us.”

“No I don’t think I will, thank you very much, Lord Commander.”

Barristan placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Ser Jaime, we will bring you in by force, if need be.”

One of the Gold Cloaks, perhaps bolder or stupider than the rest, called out “Come on let’s get him!” he charged towards the knight his spear thrust forward. Two of his fellows followed him. The sword flashed before any of them had a chance to react. Moments later, one was on the ground bleeding from a gash through his throat, another was clutching the stump where his hand had been, the last backed away quickly, the head of his spear neatly sliced off.  

“No I don’t think you want to be doing that,” Jaime said casually, “it’s not good for one’s health to come after a cornered lion.”

Barristan unsheathed his sword.

“Come on then, old man. Let’s see if you’re still as good as they said you were.” Jaime Lannister said pointing his bloody sword at Barristan.

“The rest of you stay back.” Barristan looked at Arys Oakheart standing to his right. “Finish him if he kills me,” he told the boy, and then leapt into battle.

The nervousness disappeared as steel met steel with a sweet clang. He knew the song of swords as they wheeled and slashed at each other. The world became nothing more than the two of them as they parried and deflected the other’s blows. Dimly Barristan heard sounds of other fights from the open window carried across the night. The time for plotting was over. The battle had begun.

They broke apart, panting. Neither of them had done any injury to the other apart from a few minor scratches. Warily, they circled each other.

“Yes, I can see why they called you Barristan the Bold. It has been an honor to serve with you. Now, time to finish it.” And Jaime lunged at him, sword shining in the torchlight. Barristan got his sword up in time, but it was a feint. Jamie’s sword bit into his arm at a joint in Barristan’s armor. Jamie pressed his attack, driving him back, with every thrust of his sword. But the Lion Knight was acting recklessly, desperation causing him to underestimate his opponent. Barristan’s next parry was a feint and with a flurry of blows he pushed Jaime back until the Kingslayer’s back was to his cot. Jaime tripped over it as he tried to step back again, and Barristan seized his opportunity. He slashed low, and the unbalanced Jaime was unable to react in time. Jamie fell, his sword dropping from his fingers as Barristan’s sword took him in the knee.

The old knight looked down at his opponent. He felt a shred of admiration for the man, he was a formidable fighter, even if he was unworthy of being a Kingsguard. He turned to the men behind him and said in a strangely calm voice, “Bind his arms and take him down to the dungeons. He will be held there until his trial.”


	5. Myrcella I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 1/3/17

Myrcella had been asleep when they came to take her. The pounding on the door startled her into alertness.

“Wh-Who is it,” Myrcella called out into the darkness. As she became more aware of her surroundings she heard faint yelling and what sounded like the clash of steel from outside her window.

“Open the door in the name of the King!” An unfamiliar voice shouted through the wood. The pounding resumed with more intensity than before.

Groggily, Myrcella threw back the covers and slipped out of bed to the door. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said quickly. It sounded as though whoever was on the other side would start breaking down the door soon.

Myrcella unlatched the door and threw it open, finding herself face to face with a couple knights and what appeared to be about six or so Gold Cloaks. All were unknown to her with the exception of the Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant.

“Ser Meryn, what is this about?” she asked squinting into the light of the torches.

“Be calm my Princess, we have come to take you to safety. There is fighting in the castle.”

“What? Who’s fighting?” Myrcella was confused.  _Who would be attacking the Red Keep?_

“Never you mind about that, come with us.” It was the other knight, Myrcella thought she vaguely recognized him. His shield was blue and white with three red hart’s heads, but with her sleep-addled mind she could not recall what house those arms belonged to.  The knight was stamping his feet impatiently apparently anxious to be off.

The men gave her no choice as they surrounded her and marched her down the hall where they were met by another group of men-at-arms, these ones leading a bleary-eyed Tommen. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes and, Myrcella saw with in an inward groan, he was still clutching his little lion doll that he always slept with.

“‘Cella, what’s going on? Where are we going?” He was looking scared; like he might cry at any moment.

“These men are taking us somewhere safe, from the fighting.”  _At least I hope they are._

“Okay,” Tommen mumbled, and he grabbed onto her hand.  _For the gods sake, he’s seven now! Why can’t he grow up and stop being a baby about everything?_ She would have shaken him off, but she was afraid that might make him more upset.

The men led them to the door out of the apartments they lived in and they stepped out into the corridors of the Red Keep. The sounds of fighting were definitely clearer out here. Ser Meryn and Ser Boros Blount, who had brought Tommen, were up ahead seemingly having a whispered argument. Myrcella noted that Ser Boros kept glancing back at the Gold Cloaks nervously.

Unexpectedly, Ser Meryn turned around, blocking their path. He had his sword drawn and was pointing it at the men behind him. Ser Boros was quick to follow his lead.

“What are you doing, Ser Meryn? We don’t have much time!” The hart knight was looking around in alarm.

“I’m sorry, Ser Elwood, but I can’t let you take the Prince and Princess into custody. Men!”

Suddenly, about a dozen Lannister guardsmen burst from in front and behind them. The Gold Cloaks were taken unawares and were overwhelmed quickly. But Ser Elwood was able to draw his sword and cut down one of the Lannister men before Ser Meryn’s sword took him from behind. Tommen gave a small shriek as the man fell before them. He squeezed her hand more tightly.   Myrcella said nothing, but watched with horrid fascination as blood pooled around them.  

The Lannister guardsmen quickly surrounded her and Tommen. Myrcella was still disoriented by the sudden chaos, but Ser Meryn seemed impatient.

“Come on, we need to get out of the castle before they can catch us.” And they were shuttled through a confusing labyrinth of corridors. Myrcella quickly became lost as they were hurried through the Red Keep, finally emerging out a narrow side gate. As they raced through the outer courtyard, Myrcella could see figures in combat, but the torchlight was insufficient to see who was fighting whom.  _What’s going on?_   _Where are we being taken?_

Then they were in the city, running through twisty cobbled streets. The sounds of battle diminished behind them, obviously the fighting was confined to the Keep itself, but that made Myrcella even more confused as to what was happening. Finally, they came to a stop outside a deserted warehouse.

“Quick, in here,” Ser Meryn bustled them inside glancing up and down the deserted street. Myrcella found that she was still holding Tommen’s hand and let go quickly. She looked around at the warehouse, but the interior was hidden in shadows.

Ser Meryn seemed to be in charge as was giving orders in a quiet curt tone, sending several Lannister men back out into the streets.  He glanced over at Tommen and Myrcella causing her to almost yelp in fright.  The Kingsgaurd’s face was twisted into a cruel mask.  “Boros, go make sure the kids are alright.  They’re the reason we’re in this mess at all.”

Boros Blount was rather taken aback at this order, but came over to them all the same.  Myrcella noticed he was wheezing slightly from their dash though the Keep and city.  “Ser Boros, what’s happening? Where are we? Where are you taking us?” She asked gathering up her courage.

“Calm down, Princess. Some bad people were trying to take you prisoner. Meryn and I are here to get you to safety.” The balding Kingsguard was trying to sound calm, but Myrcella saw that he was drumming his fingers against the hilt of his sword in a nervous sort of way.

“But who are we fighting? Why did you kill the Gold Cloaks?”

“Don’t worry about that now, why don’t you and your brother get some rest, alright? We may need to stay here for a while.”  He muttered something under his breath about the bastard showing up.

Myrcella was not the least bit tired, but she could see that Tommen was looking terrified. She needed to act calm for his sake at least. “Fine, come on Tommen.”

As she settled Tommen into a makeshift bed made from the cloaks of some of the soldiers, Tommen hugged her tightly, his green eyes wide and frightened.

“‘Cella, I’m scared. What are they going to do with us?”

“Hush now, I’m sure these men will look after us. Now go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Alright,” he murmured, and snuggled up with his lion.

Myrcella carefully got up from beside her brother and walked silently towards the place Ser Meryn and Ser Boros were talking in agitated voices.

“Where is he?” Boros was muttering as he paced up and down. “He was supposed to meet us here with the boy. Do you think he might be working for the Old Man and the rest?”

“Patience, Preston will be here soon. He probably just ran into some trouble with the Watch.”

“That’s another thing, how did Renly and the rest get the Gold Cloaks to storm the Keep like that? I don’t like it Meryn. What if we’ve been set up?”

 _Old Man? Uncle Renly was a part of this?_ Myrcella inched closer hoping to find out more.

“Just relax will you? There’s nothing we can do now but wait.”

“Fine, but if Preston doesn’t show up soon, I’m leaving with or without the kids. I’ll not be taking orders from the Queen, not if it means I’ll end up with my head on a spike.”

“Lord Tywin will pay us well once we get his grandchildren to him, don’t worry so much.”

 _Lord Tywin? Her mother?_ Myrcella was growing more and more confused the more she heard.

“It doesn’t matter if we can’t reach him! Someone’s turned, I can feel it! We should leave, save ourselves!” Ser Boros was almost shouting now.

“Quiet!” Meryn hissed, eyeing the Lannister guards. Myrcella saw that they were looking more anxious now, as if they were expecting an attack at any second.

There was a tense silence that seemed about to burst at any moment. The seconds ticked by slowly. Myrcella felt her heart hammering in her skull.

Suddenly one of the Lannister men burst through the door. “They’ve closed the gates!” He said, trying to catch his breath, “The Gold Cloaks, they captured Lewys as we were scouting the Mud Gate! We’re trapped!”

Ser Boros looked panicked. “We’ve been betrayed! I knew it!” And with that, he hurried to the exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Meryn called after him.

“I’m being smart and getting out while I still can! They’ll be on you in a moment! I’m through with this!” The Kingsguard disappeared into the night.

“You can’t escape any more than we can!” Meryn yelled into the night. He cursed. “Gather the children; we’ll see if we can get past that gate somehow!”

There was a scrabbling of equipment as the soldiers rushed to get ready. In the resulting chaos Myrcella was able to slip back to Tommen. “Come on, we need to go,” she pushed at him trying to rouse him. Myrcella certainly didn’t trust these men, but it seemed better than wandering the alleys at night or going back to the Keep and whatever battle was going on there.

A startled cry ripped through the night. Myrcella turned to see Gold Cloaks standing in the doorway. They poured into the warehouse, at least two score. She saw Ser Meryn raise his sword before the tide of gold obscured her view.

Myrcella bundled up her brother shielding him from the view.  She knew she should probably run and try to escape but her body was paralyzed.  All she could do was to hold onto Tommen. She would not let go of him, lest she lose him in the confusion. Soldiers were shouting and men were crying out in pain. Myrcella clutched Tommen close to her chest hoping that it would lessen his terror. She vaguely noticed that she was sobbing. After what seemed like an eternity, the sounds of fighting faded away.

The tramp of feet was getting closer. Myrcella looked up, tears running down her cheeks, to see a Gold Cloak standing over her. “I’ve found two of ‘em,” he said with a growl.


	6. Stannis II

Robert was the last one to enter the Small Council chamber, striding over to his seat at the head of the table; he sat down with a loud thump.

“I, King Robert First of my name etc., etc., do hereby call to order this meeting of the Small Council.”

There was no need to call anyone to order. The council was completely silent, awaiting word of what was to come next. All eyes were fixed on the King, as he surveyed the various members of his council. All but two of the seats were filled. Only the Hand’s seat to the King’s right and the Grand Maester’s two places down were empty. Lord Arryn, of course, had been murdered by the Queen, and Grand Maester Pycelle was currently down in the dungeons, feebly protesting that he had no knowledge of the Queen’s treason.

“Well is someone going to give me a bloody report!? What’s going on out there?” Robert demanded. Stannis saw that the King had brought a flagon of chilled wine with him.

“Apologies, Your Grace, we have the Queen and her brother in custody, Pycelle has also been taken. The castle is ours as well; all the Lannister men are captured or fled.” Ser Barristan spoke hesitantly, as though uncomfortable speaking before the Small Council. “However, I regret to inform you that several members of the Kingsguard appear to have…defected to the Lannisters. Ser Preston, Ser Meryn, and Ser Boros disappeared last night along with the Lannister children.”

Robert eyed Barristan with barely controlled temper, Stannis shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He knew what would be coming next. Robert had been in a towering rage at the Lord Commander when the Queen’s bastards had been found missing. Fortunately for Barristan, Littlefinger spoke up, stemming the King’s outburst.

“I have good news on that front, Your Grace. The City Watch apprehended Ser Meryn Trant with the two younger children. Ser Meryn is dead, but Tommen and Myrcella are currently being safely held at the Mud Gate.” That was news to Stannis. _What are you playing at Littlefinger?_ If it had been up to him, the Master of Coin would never have been involved, but Renly had insisted that Baelish was the only one who could bring the Gold Cloaks to their side.

Renly stared at Littlefinger with mild surprise. For the Master of Laws, his brother certainly seemed oblivious to the antics of his underlings. Stannis was baffled at how Renly could care so little for the affairs of the Realm, preferring to spend his time choosing outfits rather than to perform his duties. Robert was no better wasting the Realm’s gold on wine and women and allowing men like Littlefinger to crawl into the Small Council. _I have fools for brothers,_ Stannis reflected not for the first time.

“My lords,” a silky voice came from the end of the table, “it would be amiss if I did not know of the going ons of last night, but what cause did the King have to arrest the Queen and make war on Lannister men inside the Red Keep itself?”   _As if your little birds haven’t already told you everything. You probably knew about the Queen for years and never told a soul._ Lord Varys looked quite unperturbed by the recent events, his expression giving nothing away but faint curiosity. Stannis had never trusted the Essosi spymaster, and had grown less and less sure that the eunuch was only interested in “serving the Realm,” as he would so often claim. _This whole city is full of vipers and Robert does nothing but watch them._

Robert was glaring darkly into his wine, and didn’t seem very likely to look up any time soon. With an internal sigh, Stannis revealed the full extent of the Queen’s treachery officially to the Small Council. Varys pretended to be shocked, while Littlefinger and Renly merely looked bored by the proceedings. Ser Barristan stared at the floor as if wishing to fall through it, and Robert just sat there clenching and unclenching his fist, low mutterings came from him now and then, that Stannis ignored.

Stannis finished and looked to Robert. The King stood, took a swig of wine and growled, “There. Now you all know how the cunt tricked and cuckolded me. Happy, eh? Going to have a laugh at my expense? Go on laugh it up at the King who can’t even command his own wife.” No one moved. Robert sat back down looking a little embarrassed.

“Right, well, with the Queen and her conspirators in prison, we can start our preparations for the trial----” Stannis was cut off.

“Kill her. I want them dead. All of them!”

“Your Grace,” Renly spoke up, “We need to prove to the Realm that she’s a traitor. You can’t be seen executing whoever you want. The Mad King tried that, and look where that got him.   Besides, Tywin will be furious when he finds out what we’ve done.”

Robert stared daggers at Renly. “Fine, as you wish. But I want you to make sure they all die.”

The council chamber became uncomfortably quiet after the King’s pronouncement.

Stannis looked over at Renly. _We’ll have to deal with him when he’s not in one of his rages._ He would need to bring Myrcella and Tommen back to the castle and get them out of Littlefinger’s hands. Maybe Robert would moderate his position if the children were involved.

When no one else looked likely to say anything, Stannis cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Ah, one last order of business. You need a new Hand since Lord Arryn’s death; I have drawn up a list of potential candidates for you to look over---”

“Ned.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“You heard me. Ned Stark is the new Hand of the King. Send a raven to him at once and tell him to come to King’s Landing.”

_He chooses his foster brother, a man he has not seen in nine years, over me? I uncovered the Queen’s betrayal and helped him capture her! Why does he run off to Stark?_

“Are… are you sure, Your Grace?”

“Certain. I’ve known Ned for years and he’s a good man. He’ll be a fine Hand. And what’s more,” Robert surveyed the council, “he’s someone I can actually trust.”

 


	7. Myrcella II

The cell they had put her in was cold and dark. It was sparsely furnished with only some moldy bales of straw for her to sit on. She slept fitfully, her mind still full of terrifying images. Ser Elwood stabbed in the back at the Red Keep, being rushed through the warrens of King’s Landing, the Lannister guardsmen overwhelmed by Gold Cloaks. And Ser Meryn on the ground, blood pooling around him, sightless eyes staring up at her.

Myrcella awoke with a start. _Where was she?_ The jumbled memories started to come back, but none of it made any sense. Then something became frighteningly clear. _Where was Tommen? What had they done with him?_ Myrcella couldn’t remember anything after the Gold Cloaks came for them. _Where were they keeping her little brother?_

She hurried to the door of her cell. Locked, of course. She pushed and pulled with all her strength, but to no avail. “Tommen! Tommen! Tommen, where are you? What have you done with him?” No response. She pounded on the wood with her fists. Screaming and crying. Finally she gave in, sobbing against the door.

She didn’t know how long she sat like that, curled up on the cold stone, tears streaming down her face. Eventually, the door swung inward. Myrcella looked up at the silhouette of her Uncle Stannis.

“Get up,” he said coldly, “we’re taking you back to the castle.” Then he turned and was gone. Myrcella scrambled up only to be met by Baratheon men-at-arms. They escorted her through the winding corridors until they stepped out into bright sunlight.

Myrcella squinted in the sudden light; they appeared to have come out of a guard post at the city wall. A couple wheelhouses sat in front of them surrounded by men in Baratheon colors. And next to one of the wheelhouses with Uncle Renly was Tommen.

“Cella!” he cried, nearly knocking her over with his enthusiastic hug. Myrcella was laughing and crying at the same time.

“Oh, Tommen, Tommen I was so worried. Are you alright?” She clutched him tight, kissing his golden curls.

A cough came from behind them. Uncle Stannis stood there looking a bit uncomfortable. “You can catch up when we get back to the Keep. Myrcella, with us please.” He motioned to the wheelhouse that Uncle Renly was sitting in.

“Why can’t Tommen come with us?” she asked a touch crossly.

“He’ll be perfectly fine in the other carriage. But we have things to discuss.” Myrcella was torn, her desire to protect Tommen battling with her desperate need to understand what was going on. She finally turned, hugged Tommen one more time, and scampered into the wheelhouse where Uncle Stannis and Uncle Renly were waiting.  

The wheelhouse jerked to a start. Uncle Stannis pulled down the shades and turned to her.

“Now, Myrcella. We have a pressing situation here. We have sufficient evidence to believe that you and your brothers are not the King’s trueborn children. You are truly the product of a… relationship between the Queen and her brother, the Kingslayer.”

_What? How could this be true?_ If Myrcella didn’t know him better, she would have thought her Uncle Stannis was joking. Myrcella sat in blank shock; she didn’t know what to say. How could everything she knew be a lie?

“As you can imagine, this puts us in a bit of a bind. We needed to arrest the Queen and her brother, but to do so we needed to make sure that no Lannister men would cause trouble,” Uncle Stannis continued.

“Of course, no one’s blaming you or your brothers for this. We’re truly sorry for what happened to you and Tommen. If it had gone according to plan, you would be safely in the Maidenvault where no one could get to you.” Uncle Renly smiled at her kindly, _but he wasn’t her uncle, if what they said was true._

Myrcella felt as though all the air had gone out of her lungs. The world was spinning around her. Her whole life was being turned upside down.

Uncle Stannis was speaking again. “Fortunately, we have secured the Red Keep… with the help of the City Watch,” Stannis looked at Renly, and Myrcella thought she saw a flash of anger in his eyes, “but we have another problem: Lord Tywin.”

“Your grandfather will be furious when he learns what we’ve done. And I for one don’t feel like ending up like the Reynes of Castamere,” Uncle Renly said with slight chuckle.

“That’s why we need you. It would be a great help if you would write to him and inform him of what has happened and why. Tell him you are perfectly safe and that he should stay where he is.”

“Myrcella, are you alright?” Uncle Renly was looking at her worriedly.

“Yes, yes… I’m fine,” it was all happening so quickly.

“Can you do this for us, Myrcella? We can help you write the letter if it’s too much.” Uncle Renly laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Why should I? What happens if I don’t do it?”

Uncle Stannis turned to her, his dark blue eyes seeming to pierce her. “If you are uncooperative, we might send you and your brother to the dungeons where your mother and father are awaiting trial.” Myrcella froze in fear.

“Stannis! Really!” Uncle Renly looked horrified, but slightly amused. “Look, Myrcella, we can’t force you to do anything, but something like this… well, it could lead to war. None of us want that. I’m sure you could do this to help us prevent that.”

They sat in silence for a bit as Myrcella considered her options. The wheelhouse was bumped and jostled as they made their way over the rough cobblestoned streets. For one thing, it seemed a good idea to stay on the good side of her captors. She thought about the terror of the fighting the previous night. If war was like that, she would do pretty much anything to avoid it. She saw Tommen in her mind’s eye, crying and clutching at her as the sounds of fighting grew closer. _I need to keep him safe._

“Fine, on one condition. Me and Tommen stay together.”

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Uncle Renly said with a smile.

Uncle Stannis ground his teeth. “It’s Tommen and I, not me and Tommen.”


	8. Tyrion I

Tyrion Lannister sauntered into the room, whistling. _In a coat of gold or a coat of red a lion still has claws._ He waddled up to the table and scrambled into a chair. The dwarf poured himself some wine, raising the glass to his father’s seat at the head of the table. _And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours._

Tyrion looked into Lord Tywin’s green eyes flecked with gold, and drank deeply.

“And who invited you to this meeting?” his father asked coolly.

“Why, father, I had assumed you had need of my quick wit,” Tyrion replied swirling the dark liquid. “I hear the news from King’s Landing is grave.”

“Oh, let him stay, Tywin. The Seven know we have need of advice at a time such as this,” his uncle Kevan said with a hint of impatience.  

Tyrion waited with baited breath. “Oh, very well,” his father snapped. He held out a paper for Tyrion to read. “It came from the capital this morning.” Tyrion took the letter, noting the broken Baratheon seal.

 

_Grandfather,_

_I write to inform you of the recent imprisonment of Queen Cersei Lannister, my mother and Ser Jaime Lannister, my father. His Highness Robert Baratheon First of his Name has discovered proof of their treacherous, incestuous union which produced my brothers and me. They are currently awaiting trial for their actions. Grand Maester Pycelle is accused of aiding and abetting them in their treason. The former squires Lancel and Tyrek Lannister are being held to determine whether they had any knowledge of the conspiracy. Tommen and I are innocent and have agreed to stay in the King’s custody for our own safety._

_I urge you to not take any rash actions. The King’s Justice will come swiftly to traitors to the Crown and I do not wish for you to become one. I urge you again to remain calm in this time of crisis. We are perfectly safe and will be sent to the Faith or the Citadel when the trial has ended._

_Your loving granddaughter,_

_Myrcella Waters_

 

“Well, is that all? I had come hoping for more sensational news than this.” Tyrion poured himself another goblet-full of wine. “Though I suppose my plans to visit my sweet sister at court have been canceled.”

“This is no time for your japes!” Lord Tywin said, eyes flashing. “We need to decide how to respond to this outrage!”

Tyrion sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Respond? Stannis Baratheon has summed it up for us nicely. These are surely his words through the hand of my niece. If we take any action against the Iron Throne, we will be crushed.”

Kevan Lannister sighed, and turned to face his brother. “Tyrion is right, Tywin. The West cannot hope to survive against all the Seven Kingdoms. If we call our banners the strength of the Crownlands and Stormlands will rise against us. Lords Stark and Arryn will back the King, the Riverlands with them and there is little love for you in Dorne. The Reach will not face the fury of the Baratheons if they have no hope of victory, and the Ironborn will not turn down the chance at plundering our shores. To rebel is to die.”

“You talk of rolling over, and letting the stags have their way with us! And when they are done who will respect the Lannister name anymore? Legacy….that’s what truly matters! After we’re gone, our name is all that’s left of us, and I will not be remembered for letting our house be dragged through the mud!”

Lord Tywin stood and paced over to the window overlooking the Sunset Sea. “When my father was lord, we were laughed at. Lords would borrow gold from us and refuse to pay it back. The ‘Laughing Lion’ they called my father. He would laugh away any offense, and our bannermen would laugh at him, at us, at how weak the lions had become. I put a stop to that, but don’t think our bannermen are loyal because of any love for the Lannisters. I showed strength to the Reynes and Tarbecks, but if we appear weak now, they will jump at the chance to regain the power they once had. The Crakehalls, the Braxes, the Marbrands, even the Paynes will be breathing down our necks.” He slammed his fist down on the windowsill. “I cannot allow that! I will not allow it! I must do _something_!”

Tyrion surveyed his father over the top of his wineglass.   “You know father, as a dwarf, I have learned many things. From a young age, I learned I was not my brother. I would never ride in tourneys or become a master swordsman. Instead I learned to use what weapons the gods had seen fit to give me.” He tapped his head. “My wits. I learned it is often preferable to talk one’s way out of a conflict than to fight, especially for me given my poor skill at arms.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that at this moment you are a dwarf, not a knight. If you try to fight you will lose. Badly. However, if you were to try negotiating with the King… well I hear we own a good deal of the Crown’s debt. Three million golden dragons was it?”

“Tyrion’s idea is a good one, Tywin. Even if it doesn’t work out, it will buy us time to prepare for a war. Find allies, hire sellswords.”

Lord Tywin stared out at the waves crashing against the cliffs. The setting sun glinted off his whiskers, turning them to fiery gold. “Yes, it would do the trick. But who will go to King’s Landing? I am needed at Casterly Rock, and Kevan will be needed to help me in the event of war. And I don’t dare send any of my vassals; they cannot know what a precarious situation we are in. No, it must be a Lannister.” Tywin turned to Tyrion an eyebrow raised.

 _Brilliant, my tongue has landed me in the middle of the most dangerous pissing contest in Westeros._ Sighing, Tyrion said “I suppose I could go as an emissary to the Baratheons.” _That tongue of mine gets me in an as much trouble as it gets me out of,_ Tyrion thought ruefully. _One of these days it will be the death of me._

“Hmmm,” Tywin Lannister turned back to the window.

Tyrion got up from his seat and made his way awkwardly to the exit. His legs were cramping again. As he shuffled along, he was stopped by his father’s voice.

“Is it true?”

Tyrion stood with one foot in the stone passageway. “I beg your pardon?”

“The… accusations in that letter. Are they true?” His words sounded forced, as if they came from him against his will.

 _He didn’t know!_ Tyrion realized with a start. He almost burst out laughing. _He had no idea that those golden twins of his were fucking!_ _He must have been blind and deaf to not see it!_ “I’m sorry to tell you this father, but you can spend decades building your legacy, but your children can tear it all down in a matter of minutes.”

 


	9. Eddard I

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell sat at the base of the weirwood tree cleaning the greatsword Ice. He always came to the godswood after killing a man. The dark and peaceful quiet of the sacred forest helped settle his nerves after he had done his duty. _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._ The red eyes of the heart tree watched him, just as they had watched all the lords of Winterfell gone before, and the Kings of Winter before them. Ned felt comforted as he sat on his moss-covered stone, sword on his knees, staring into blackness of the pool before him. The Old Gods watched over him, connecting him to the long line of Starks stretching back thousands of years to the Age of Heroes.

Cat’s voice came through the dimly lit grove. “Ned,” she called softly.

Eddard looked up to see his wife standing before him, a letter in her hand. Instinctively, Ned knew he did not want to know what was written there. Cat wouldn’t be in the godswood by her own choosing, Ned knew how little his Southron bride liked the sacred place of the Old Gods. “Catelyn. Where are the children?”

They spoke of the execution and the direwolf pups they had found as they returned. The dead mother had been enormous, nearly as large as his horse. He was still not sure he had done the right thing, allowing Jon to convince him to let the children keep a pup each. But the direwolf was the sigil of House Stark, so he had relented. They spoke of the Night’s Watch flagging strength. Benjen had written that the Watch was below a thousand men and there were stirrings from Beyond the Wall.

But Ned knew something was wrong. He could see it in the way Cat was standing stiffly, how she kept the letter behind her leg, out of sight. Shouldering himself to the unpleasant task, Ned slid Ice back into its sheath. “Very well, I know you must have come with some purpose other than snarks and grumpkins. What is it Cat?”

Silently, she held out the letter for him to read.

Ned could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Jon Arryn dead by Lannister hands. The Queen and her brother arrested for treason. The bastardy of the royal children. The looming threat of war. And he was named Hand of the King and commanded to come to south as soon as possible.

Ned looked up at his wife, still in a state of shock. He saw her Tully blue eyes full of tears. “You’ll be going soon then, I expect,” she said, her voice quavering as she tried not to cry.

Ned stood and pulled her into an embrace. She was crying now, and Ned felt tears well up in his own eyes. They held each other for some time, knowing this would be one of the last times for a long while.

Cat finally broke their contact. “Well, there’s not much use standing about here,” she said with a brave smile. “You’ll want to get your affairs in order to leave on the morrow.”

“Yes, of course, but first I need some time alone with the gods.”

Cat nodded. “Very well, I will let Rodrik Cassel know of your intentions. He will ready the men.” She turned and left Ned alone in the godswood with his thoughts.

He knelt at the foot of the weirwood tree. The tree’s eyes looked as though they were crying red sap down the pale trunk. _Old Gods, gods of my father’s, give me wisdom now._ Wind rustled through the weirwood’s leaves sounding almost like a whisper, but Ned could not make out the words.

Ned vividly remembered the last time he had left the North. Then, as now, it had been at the behest of the King. He had helped Robert deal with the Greyjoys and put an end to Balon’s Kingdom of the Iron Isles. At that time Robb and Jon had been only five namedays old, just beginning to practice with wooden swords. And his lovely daughter Sansa had been barely more than a babe in arms. It had been hard to leave his family behind then, but the King had called, so Ned gathered his banners and rode to war.

It would be even harder now to leave the children behind. Robb was nearly a man grown but Ned still needed to instruct his son how to be a lord so that he could rule Winterfell justly after Ned was gone. Solemn, silent Jon, the same age, was Robb’s best friend and would be a loyal bannerman to Robb someday. Sansa was growing into the spitting image of her mother, and was always a perfect little lady. Wild Arya, her clothes dirty and hair undone, running through Winterfell. She reminded Ned so much of his lost sister sometimes. Bran climbing up and down the walls like a squirrel. Cat was terrified that he would hurt himself, but Ned indulged his son, after all Bran would climb whether or not they wished him to. And Rickon, the babe, such a strong-willed little pup. And he would miss his Cat, her beautiful laugh, the way she would squeeze his hand when they sat at supper, their loving embrace at night.

They were his pack, and the pack should stay together. He wanted to stay with them in Winterfell and watch them grow. It was summer for now, but winter was coming and Ned wanted to be in the North with his family when it came.

But Robert, his best friend, had called for him in a time of need. He and Robert had spent much of their youth together at the Eyrie under the tutelage of Jon Arryn. Jon, who was now dead by Lannister treachery. Jon, who had raised and taught Ned much of what he knew, who Ned had loved as much as he had ever loved his father. He could still not believe that he would never again see his foster-father’s face; that they would never sit together reminiscing about old times; they would never share another joke. Silently, Ned began to weep.

It all came back to the Lannisters. Jon had worked with them, trusted them even despite the fact they had been late to the war, only siding with Robert after the fighting was almost done. But Ned had never trusted the lions of the West, not since he had found King’s Landing sacked and looted by Lannister forces, and Jaime Lannister sitting on the Iron Throne above the corpse of his King. His gilded sword had still been red with blood. But this business with the Queen and her brother… Ned had trouble believing such accusations.

Ned wished he could bring his wife and children south with him, but from the sound of Robert’s missive, war was coming, and Ned could not put them in danger. Better they stay in the North out of harm’s way. Besides, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. _Old Gods, watch over my family. Keep them safe as I ride south._ The wind sighed through the red leaves.

Ned rose from the tree. He needed to prepare for his journey south. If war truly was coming, he would need to alert the banners. They would take time to assemble, but when the Northmen were roused, their fury was terrible to behold. The Lannisters would have no idea what they were up against. As Ned strode out of the godswood, he was determined. He would ride south for his King. He would ride south to war.


	10. Stannis III

Stannis Baratheon ground his teeth in frustration. _Why must all my allies be fools?_ He sat next to his brothers and the Lord Commander around the table in Robert’s solar, which had thankfully been cleared of the remnants of the King’s earlier display of rage.

“Robert, for the last time, the trial _must_ be public. That’s the whole point of the trial, so that everyone can _see_ the Queen’s treason and know the execution is just.”

“They’ll be able to see their justice when I have her fucking head cut off!” Robert thundered, he grabbed a nearby bottle of wine and drank deeply.

Stannis ground his teeth again, he was getting nowhere.

Renly spoke up cheerily, “Apart from the location, the preparations for the trial are coming along nicely. Lord Varys has been most helpful, turning up more evidence of the Queen’s fornication with her brother.” _Of course, now he can find some evidence._ Stannis had once tried to get Robert to replace Varys with someone more trustworthy, but his brother had just laughed and told Stannis that the eunuch was too valuable to replace. Renly would, of course, not worry at all about sharing valuable information with those who were trying to undermine them.

Renly was still talking, “And we are gathering all of your, ah, natural children that we can find to show that the Queen’s bastards could not be yours.” _Doing what I did for years before this mess began. And do I get a thanks from Robert for what I did for him? No, of course not, he just drowns himself in drink and runs for Stark._

“Oh, and one more thing, Robert,” Renly’s genial smile slipped off, replaced by a look of grim determination. “Myrcella still wants to speak with you.”

Robert slammed the bottle down with a crash. “I’ve told you before. I don’t want to see those bastards. I promised they wouldn’t come to harm, but that’s all I’ll do for them. I don’t want to see them and I don’t want to hear them! That’s the end of it! Anything else?”

“Very well, I’ll just tell her that the man she called father for eight years doesn’t want anything more to do with her.”   Renly folded his arms and sat back in his chair.

Robert’s face reddened behind his beard, but he grit his teeth and growled with thinly veiled menace, “I said that’s it, I don’t want to hear about that anymore.”

Renly sighed. “Fine then, while we’re on the subject of the Queen’s children, I am sorry to admit that we are no closer to finding where Joffrey has got off to. We know that Ser Preston Greenfield along with six Gold Cloaks and two knights went to apprehend Joffrey three nights ago. But they along with the boy have disappeared with no trace as to their whereabouts.”

Stannis ground his teeth. “How do nine men and the former Crown Prince just disappear? There must be some clue as to where they went.”

His younger brother threw up his hands in exasperation. “Look Stannis, I don’t know if you remember, but it was chaos that night. No one knew what was happening. Fighting in the castle, King and Queen giving contradictory orders; more people probably disappeared, but no one has reported it yet. If you think you can find them be my guest. I’ve got more than enough to deal with; organizing a trial, sorting out the Gold Cloaks, I can’t devote my time to a missing boy!”

“A boy?! Joffrey’s not just a boy, Renly! Do you realize what might happen if he falls into the wrong hands?!” Stannis was standing, shouting across the table at his younger brother who had risen as well. Blue eyes stared back at him with cold fury. “I swear if your incompetence costs us---”

“Enough!” Robert bellowed, smashing the bottle onto the table again. This time it shattered spraying all of them with shards. “I will not have my councilors bickering like children! Sit down, both of you!”

Stannis and Renly both took their seats, chastised.   Stannis stared at his hands in shame.

In the awkward silence that followed, Ser Barristan spoke up for the first time. “Your Grace, I wish to apologize again for my actions on the night in question, if I hadn’t sent Preston, Meryn and Boros…”

“It’s fine Barristan, what’s done is done.” The King’s towering rage at the old knight had evaporated as quickly as it had come, “No one blames you for what happened. It’s not your fault your sworn brothers turned out to be lying, oathless traitors.”

“But, Your Grace I---”

“Not another word about it!” Robert said firmly, “However, you’ve reminded me, we’ve got four empty spots on the Kingsguard now, who’s going to fill them?”

“No Your Grace, only one. We Kingsguard serve for life; Ser Jaime, Ser Boros, and Ser Preston are still members of the Kingsguard while they draw breath.”

“Well, we’ll have their heads on spikes soon enough!” Robert laughed, “But who do you want for the other spot?”

Before, Barristan could speak, Renly cut him off. “Ser Loras Tyrell, my former squire and good friend, has long spoken of one day becoming a Kingsguard. He says there is no higher honor for a knight.” _A lot more than a friend if the rumors I hear are true,_ Stannis thought.

“Yes, Flower Knight, didn’t he help bring in the Queen? Took out four Lannister guards to get her? Give him a white cloak!” Robert laughed again; pouring himself a goblet of wine he toasted Renly. “Oh, if that’s fine with you Selmy,”

“I…suppose so, yes.”

Renly smiled. “Excellent, Loras will be delighted to hear it. Oh, yes, speaking of Loras, I’ve just remembered. Loras said his father, Mace Tyrell, will be coming up the Roseroad with a retinue of two hundred swords to pay fealty to you. He’s bringing his maiden daughter with him, Margaery I believe her name is. They should be here within a fortnight.”

Stannis ground his teeth again. _Gods be good, we just freed the court of Lannisters, now we’re to be swamped with Tyrells?_

“Brilliant!” Robert chortled, “We’ll be singing of the Lannisters of Casterly Rock in a moon’s time!”

 


	11. Preston

Ser Preston Greenfield was growing annoyed. The boy was complaining again, moaning about the cart being too rough on his injured arm. The Hound offered no help, merely spurring his horse to ride further ahead. It would be pointless to tell the boy to shut up, he’d just whine about how he was the Crown Prince and how they couldn’t tell him to do anything. _Seven Hells, why did I agree to this?_ Ser Preston wondered, not for the first time.

The oxcart Preston had bought for them was making its way west on the winding road to Casterly Rock. They had been traveling all day and now the sun was directly in their eyes. Preston was grimy and sweaty and his back ached from sitting at the front of the oxcart for hours. _Damn that woman for making me do this!_

At least they could travel during the day now. Before they had reached the Westerlands, they had only traveled at night when they would be less likely to meet any Baratheon guards. It went against all of the Kingsguard’s instincts to hide out in abandoned farms and inns like a common thief, but that was the price he had paid when he abandoned his King. _Fifteen years as a Kingsguard and all for nothing. Tywin better pay me well for his grandson, my honor should be worth at least a small keep._

“Can’t this bloody cart go any faster?” the boy moaned.

“We should reach Casterly Rock by sundown, my Prince,” Preston answered wearily.

“I’m the Crown Prince, I demand that we go faster!”

Preston sighed and gave the oxen pulling the cart another whip. It wouldn’t do much good, the poor beasts were as tired as he was, but it made Joffrey shut up for a bit.

Joffrey Baratheon had taken to life on the road even worse that Preston had. He grumbled about the summer rains that had turned the Gold Road to mud, complained that the rough wool he had to wear to disguise him was giving him fleas, and often whined that he was too tired to continue for the night. This last point had led to him falling asleep as they were riding, falling off and breaking his arm. It was only a fracture as far as Preston could tell, but Joffrey had cried and wailed, insisting that he was too hurt to ride. Irritated, Preston had been forced to appropriate an oxcart in order to carry the little bastard to his grandfather. Preston had left a sum of gold that he hoped was a fair price for the cart.

The only one who seemed to be enjoying themselves was the Hound, though that might have been from watching Ser Preston and Joffrey having a thoroughly rotten time. The gigantic man seemed to get a perverse pleasure from watching the Prince complain about small things and having Preston try to deal with him. He was whistling as he rode ahead, oblivious to Preston’s sufferings. Ser Preston didn’t understand why the scarred man hated him so much. The Hound would often bristle at any attempt of Preston’s to get him to help out, and Preston would be forced to do all the work himself. He often wondered why the Hound didn’t just abandon them. He couldn’t be staying out of any love for Joffrey. Despite being the boy’s sworn sword, he clearly hated the boy, and after two weeks in the Prince’s company, Preston was feeling the same way.

If only Preston had taken Joffrey to the Maidenvault as he had been ordered by the Lord Commander, he would not be in this mess now. It would have been a lot easier than climbing down the cliffs in near total darkness, trying to keep track of a boy while not falling to his death.

But no, he had to listen to the Queen and bring her beloved son to her father. And by doing so, Preston had sacrificed all his hard work over fifteen years. He had betrayed the King he had sworn to protect with his life. He wondered if he had been dismissed from the Sworn Brotherhood, but it made no matter, he could never go back to King’s Landing. “A Lannister always pays their debts,” the Queen had said when he gave his word to help her children. Well, they certainly had a good deal of debt to him now.

Not that he didn’t owe the Lannisters anything, far from it. Born the youngest son of a landed knight, Ser Preston hadn’t been destined for much in life besides a wandering hedge knight. But his service in the Lannister army had been noticed during the Rebellion, and Lord Tywin had argued for his appointment to the Kingsguard, an honor he had never hoped for even in his wildest dreams. Ser Preston Greenfield had served faithfully, but he was never allowed to forget who had gotten him his position. And so he had come when Cersei Lannister called, and he had done her bidding.

The oxcart finally crested the hill they had been climbing for the past hour, and they got their first glimpse of the Sunset Sea. And towering over the ocean was the massive fortress of Casterly Rock. It stood like an immense sentinel over the squat huts and comparatively tiny walls of Lannisport.  

It took them another two hours to reach the gates of the Lannister stronghold, by which time the sun was nearly down. The Rock’s vast shadow engulfed them, turning the landscape from gold to grey.

“Halt!” called a guard dressed in Lannister colors. They had reached the main gate. “Who goes there?”

“Ser Preston Greenfield, of the Kingsguard, escorting the Prince Joffrey Baratheon to his grandfather, Lord Tywin,” Preston responded with all the authority he could muster.

The guards looked at each other. “And the other one---oh,” the guard had caught sight of the Hound’s grizzled, scarred face curled back in a sneer. “Um, go on in then, Lord Tywin will be notified shortly of, uh, his grandson’s arrival.”

They left the oxcart in the main stable and were escorted to Lord Tywin’s solar. Joffrey was holding his arm gingerly and muttering about being seen in rags. Preston held his tongue, with any luck he would be rid of the boy soon and would never have to deal with him again.

Lord Tywin was already waiting for them when they entered the room. He did not display any affection for his grandson when he saw him. Tywin merely looked the boy up and down much the way a knight would look over a steed before riding him in a joust.

“Yes, this’ll do nicely.” Lord Tywin pronounced curtly. “Now, boy, I expect you’ll want to get cleaned up and get some rest after being on the road for so long.”

“Yes, thank you Lord Grandfather,” Joffrey replied with a bow. He could be courteous if he put his mind to it. “That would be most kind. My arm is badly hurt from an accident along the road; it will need attention from a maester.”

Lord Tywin flicked his eyes to a servant standing in the doorway. “Go and fetch my grandson some hot water for a bath and see he is set up some chambers for him. And call the maester, have him see to his wound.” The servant bowed and led Joffrey away.

The Lion lord turned his attention to Ser Preston and the Hound. “Now Sers---”

“I’m not a fucking Ser,” The Hound spat.

Lord Tywin’s face darkened. “You have done House Lannister admirable service, and you shall be well rewarded for your loyalty.”

_As long as that reward is to get as far from Joffrey as possible, I’m all in in,_ Preston thought.

“For you, Master Clegane, perhaps lands and titles in the Westerlands somewhere?”

“Fuck your titles, just give me something to kill and enough gold to drink myself to death and I’ll be happy,”

“Very well then, maybe a position as a general in the West’s army? I can pay you more than you could spend in a lifetime.”

The Hound just grunted, Lord Tywin seemed to take that as consent. “And as for you Ser Preston, I trust you will be content with Lord Commander of the Kingsguard?”

_Lord Commander? What?_ “My lord, I’m sorry… I don’t understand…”

“Oh you will soon enough,” Lord Tywin stood and strode to the door that led to his chambers.

“My lord, I’m sorry, but…what is it you wish me to do?”

“Your duty as a Kingsguard, Ser Preston, to guard Prince Joffrey.”


	12. Eddard II

The castle was bustling with activity, men dashing about hastily making preparations for their departure the next day. The whole place was in chaos, people rushing here and there, bumping into each other, from up here they looked like ants scurrying around their nest.   Ned felt bad for them; he had given them no warning and now they had to organize the entire party, over three hundred men.

Those numbers would be augmented as they made their way south. Maester Luwin had already sent ravens to Castle Cerwyn and various other keeps in their path to ready their men to march south. By the time Ned reached Moat Cailin he would hopefully have close to a thousand Northmen at his back and more on the way. The maester had also sent ravens to Ned’s other vassals to be prepared to raise their levies and march to Winterfell.   If war broke out with the Lannisters, the North would be able to bring a host of thirty thousand against them.

Ned saw Ser Rodrik Cassel ordering men about, seemingly in five places at once as he presided over the commotion. Ned smiled as he watched the old knight; Ser Rodrik was a good man, but Ned was leaving him behind to serve as Castellan of Winterfell in his absence. He would be of assistance to Robb as he learned how to rule the North.

His son was almost a man grown, but Ned still thought of him as the young boy chasing his half-brother through the glass gardens with a wooden sword, as they played Knights and Monsters. Nevertheless, it would be a good experience for Robb to learn what it took to be a lord. His boy was not much younger than he had been when the burden of leadership had fallen to him after his father and brother’s deaths at the hands of the Mad King. And it was not as if Robb would have to take up that burden on his own. He would have many capable advisors; Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, Vayon Poole, even his mother Lady Catelyn would be staying behind to guide him.

A knock at the door startled Ned from his thoughts. Opening it, he found himself face-to-face with his bastard son, Jon Snow. Jon looked up at him, nervousness written in his grey Stark eyes, _so much like mine,_ Ned thought, _so much like hers._ Jon’s albino wolf pup stood by his heels, staring at Ned with its red eyes.

“Father,” Jon said with a small bow.   _Always so serious,_ Ned reflected, _a curse of being a bastard._ Ned wished it didn’t have to be this way, but it couldn’t be helped now.

“Jon,” Ned replied with a smile, “what brings you up here? Why aren’t you at dinner with your brothers and sisters?”

“Lady Catelyn,” Jon answered curtly. _Ah, yes._ Ned had hoped that his wife would warm to the bastard over the years. He knew Cat would never love Jon as much as her own children, but he had hoped… well it was done now. He had shamed her by bringing Jon to live with them, and she had never forgiven the boy for it. But what other choice had he had?

“Very well, do you wish to take your meal with me? I can ask a servant to fetch us some meat and bread.”

“No father, actually I came to… well, I, uh, came to ask for your permission to leave with you when you ride south tomorrow,” Jon stammered nervously.

Ned froze in shock. He vividly remembered the last time the Starks had ridden south. Thousands of deaths. Green flames, a leather cord. And a bed of blood. Lya’s voice echoed in his mind, _Promise me, Ned._

“No. You can’t come.”

“But Father, why not? I’m four and ten, nearly a man grown! I’m good with a sword and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in Winterfell! Why shouldn’t you take me?” Jon said petulantly.

“Because you’re four and ten, and it’s going to be dangerous. War is not a game for boys, Jon. I won’t let you get yourself hurt.”

“The Young Dragon was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne!” Jon responded hotly.

“And his conquest led to countless deaths his own included. I tell you again, it is no game. I will not let you ride south.” A crown of blue winter roses swam in Ned’s vision.

“Father, you’re not being fair! You’re taking Theon with you!”

“Theon is nineteen, and a man grown. You are not.” _And I don’t trust Balon Greyjoy during wartime. Theon is not my son, I don’t fear for his safety, not if one day I may have to take off his head._

“I’m as good as Theon is at anything; horses, swords, archery. I don’t know why you won’t let me come! You insist on treating me like a child, but I’m not!” And with that, Jon turned and fled from his father’s company. The direwolf looked up at Ned again and then bounded away after its master.

*      *      *      *      *

He lay in bed with Cat that night, holding her close to him as she slept. Tomorrow at daybreak he would ride out; this would be their last night together. Ned couldn’t sleep, try as he might. He was unable to stop thinking of the family he would leave behind. Sighing, he got up and opened the window. The cool icy blast stung against his cheeks and Ned felt invigorated as he breathed in the Northern night air. This was where he belonged, with his children, not in the South. But Ned would come when his King called.

Cat seemed to sense his absence. She had awoken and was looking at him with concern. “Ned, what’s wrong?” she asked sleepily.

“Nothing, I was just…thinking.”

“What about?”

“Jon. He asked me to take him with me.”

Cat’s mouth tightened, as it always did when Jon was mentioned. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him no, of course. I can’t let him go south; it’s too dangerous down there for him. I won’t let him get hurt.” His sister’s dying words came back to him again, _Promise me, Ned._

“Why is it dangerous for him?”

“Because he’s a boy, and wars are deadly for boys like him.” _You insist on treating me like a child,_ Jon had said, but Ned had to, it was for his own safety.

“I don’t see why he shouldn’t go. He could win some glory fighting, perhaps even become a knight, take a name other than Snow.”

_You would want that, wouldn’t you Cat? Then he’d no longer be a threat to your children._ Not that Jon would ever take the rights of his half-siblings away, but Cat never seemed to see that. Although, was it fair to Jon to leave him here with the woman who always looked down on him, never treated him the same as her own children?

“Why leave the boy here with me if he wants to go?   You know that I have never liked him. What makes the boy so special that he cannot go to war?”

“Because he is my blood, Cat. And I must protect my blood.”

*      *      *      *      *

It was the hour of the wolf, Ned would be leaving soon. Yet here he was at the Maester’s Turret. Tentatively, he raised his hand to knock. No reply. Ned knocked again, still no response. He was just about to turn around, when Maester Luwin opened the door. The small grey man was dressed in his maester’s robes as usual, his chain still tight about his neck.

“Ah, Lord Stark,” the maester said, “what brings you here at this time of night?”

Ned stepped into Maester Luwin’s cluttered chamber and sat down at the desk the maester used to write messages. “Maester Luwin, I have always valued your advice. I have something to ask of you. Jon came to me earlier today, and asked to come with me when I ride south. I told him he was too young, that I wouldn’t allow it. But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Luwin looked at him for a while, seeming to gather his words. At last he spoke, “I’ve known Jon since he was brought to Winterfell as a babe. I have watched him grow into a fine young man. I feel as if I am as much a father to him as you are, Lord Stark. And I have seen how he struggles to fit in, when all people see when they look at him is the bastard. I also know that he looks desperately to you to find some place in life. This is his chance, as he sees it, to prove himself to everyone, especially to you. You asked me for advice, well, I advise you to bring your son. Allow him to show to you that he is ready.”

Ned sighed, “I had a feeling you would say something like that, Luwin. But I’m his father. A father is supposed to protect his children. How can I protect Jon if he’s fighting in a war?”

“You are not the first father to feel this way, Lord Eddard. Nor is he the first son to want to prove himself.   You must let the boy grow up; let him become his own man. You can try to keep him safe forever, but you will fail.”

“I suppose so, but still…”

Maester Luwin smiled, “You have already allowed one son to grow up. You are leaving Robb behind to become a lord. He will not be perfect, but that is why I will be here with him, to help him when he stumbles. Let your other son be a man, and be there for him when he makes mistakes.”

Ned found Jon beneath the heart tree. The grey light of dawn had not yet penetrated the godswood. Ned knelt on the mossy ground beside his son. They prayed in silence to the Old Gods together. _Give me strength, give me wisdom, and help me keep my boy safe._ The leaves rustled.

Finally, Ned broke the stillness of the early morning. “Jon, you should probably go and pack your bags if you want to leave with us.”


	13. Tyrion II

“All hail His Grace, Robert of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” From inside the throne room, Tyrion could hear a thousand feet rising for their king. A moment later and the doors were thrust open and a Baratheon man-at arms grunted, “Go on, Imp.”

Tyrion smoothed his doublet absentmindedly, before waddling confidently out into the hall. Inside the throne room, he could feel five hundred pairs of eyes fixed on his small stature and woefully stumpy legs. His uneven footfalls filled the otherwise silent hall.

Tyrion Lannister strode down the Great Hall his Lannister guardsmen trailing behind. _Please gods, if you have any mercy, don’t let my legs cramp up now._ He felt even smaller than usual, dwarfed by the iron monstrosity that rose before him. It had been the seat of the Targaryens for two hundred years before a headstrong young lord from the Stormlands claimed it for himself. _And he dares call my father a traitor._

Robert Baratheon stared down at him from the Iron Throne, ill-disguised malice in his eyes. The King looked terrible, his eyes were bloodshot, his once muscular chest had grown a massive gut, and his face seemed to droop in a defeated way.

His brothers Stannis and Renly Baratheon, standing on either side of the steps to the ugly, barbed seat, did not seem particularly pleased to see him either.

Tyrion stopped just before he reached the line of Kingsguard, only four, Tyrion noticed and executed a clumsy bow. “Your Grace,” he said.

“Lord Tyrion of House Lannister!” the Herald announced.

“Imp. Why have you come here?” Robert spat. _Well, at least he’s not subtle._

“Your Grace, I come on behalf of my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West, to speak with the King regarding the imprisonment of my siblings. I hope we may come to an arrangement that benefits all.”

Stannis scoffed, “Queen Cersei and her brother Ser Jaime have been arrested for treason. They are to be put on trial for their crimes against the King.”

“Speak your piece, Imp, and begone. Or stay and watch what happens to those who betray the King." Renly glared at him.

“Your sister and brother have committed crimes against me, and I’ll make sure they die for it. And if your arrogant prick of a father has something to say about it he can come to King’s Landing his bloody self, instead of hiding behind his last and least son!” Robert snarled.

Tyrion felt the attention of everyone in the hall fixed on him.

“I agree, Your Grace. My father is a cunning and malicious man, and he’s hated me since my birth. But I obey his orders, and give him counsel all the same. Why? Because he is my flesh and blood. And we must always stand beside our family no matter who they are or what they’ve done. I have little love for my sweet sister or my brother the Kingslayer, but here I am all the same, pleading for their lives, when I know full well they would never do the same for me.”

The hall was still for a moment, five hundred onlookers held their breath, waiting. Finally, Stannis spoke, “What is it you want, Imp?”

“Why, Your Grace,” Tyrion smiled at Robert, “to make a deal.”

“I will have your sibling’s heads for how they have insulted me, Imp. Your ‘deal’ better be a fucking good one!”

Tyrion smiled again in the humblest and most understanding way he could. “That is for you to decide, Your Grace. The Iron Throne has had some hefty expenses in recent years, and my… generous father has paid those debts. Now, Lord Tywin has offered to forgive the Iron Throne of all it owes to House Lannister. In exchange, of course, for Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime along with the Lannister squires and the Queen’s children to be delivered safely to the Rock.” _A Lannister always pays his debts, after all._

“Fuck your deal,” grunted the King. But Tyrion noticed that Stannis was looking worriedly at Robert.

A smooth voice from the shadows beneath the great tapestries spoke up, “I would not wave away the dwarf’s words so easily, Your Grace,” The voice stepped forward, as it did the torchlight revealed the scheming face of Petyr Baelish. “We do in fact owe House Lannister a prodigious amount of gold, Your Grace. They have assisted us, frequently in fact, on some of our more…lavish events.” _What are you playing at Littlefinger?_

“I said no didn’t I?!” the King roared, turning on Littlefinger, “I will not have my authority questioned by the lord of a craggy chunk of rock no one gives a damn about!” The king turned back to Tyrion. “And unless your father has a better proposition you can bloody well piss off!”

“I don’t believe he does, Your Grace. And I can’t think of a proposal that my father could abide to, right now either. But I do have a request.”

“You must be joking,” Stannis said, clenching his jaw.

“I assure you I am not, but my request is quite simple. I would like to meet with my brother and sister, if that’s not too much to ask.”

“Is this a trick, Imp?”

“Look at me, Your Grace.” He said smiling in what he hoped was a disarming way, “I am a dwarf, that’s all I’ve ever been and that’s all that I’ll ever be. What’s more, I am an unarmed dwarf, and you know just as well as I do that an unarmed dwarf is as about as useful to a prisoner as a pool of piss and some straw.”

“Very well, talk to your traitorous siblings; fuck them for all I care. It wouldn’t be the first time Cersei’s felt a brother’s cock, just get out of my sight!”

Tyrion bowed deeply, “Thank you for your generosity, Your Grace.” He rose and smiled. “A Lannister always pays their debts.”

*      *      *      *      *

The Baratheon guard shoved the key into Cersei’s door and opened it with a clattering of metal. “There you are dwarf, the queen.” He entered, and the door shut behind him.

The queen’s chambers weren’t even lit. It was a tiny cell with no windows or torches. Just stone walls, some straw and a metal bucket reeking of shit. The queen sat amid her luxuries in a simple woolen shift. Cersei squinted up at him in the low light from the corridor.

“Who are you?” Her voice sounded crackly from hunger and thirst, but her haughtiness still shone through.

“Can’t you recognize me by my charming figure, sweet sister?” Even in the minimal light Tyrion could see his sister’s frustration.

“Tyrion! What are you doing here? Where’s Father? Why hasn’t he come for us?”

“Father is still at Casterly Rock, no doubt pacing about in his solar, brooding. As to why I’m here, well naturally, Father sent me.”

“Father sent _you_?” Cersei was incredulous. “Why hasn’t he come himself? Why hasn’t he raised the West and come to free us?”

“Calm yourself sister. He’ll do no such thing; you shouldn’t expect so much from our father, after all he only sided with Robert when he knew there was no way to lose.”

Cersei was on her feet, “You mean he’s abandoning us in these cells! You mean he’s sitting at the Rock doing nothing?!”

“Quiet, Cersei, there are King’s men around here; we can’t let them hear us.”

“I am the Queen! I will speak as loudly as I please!” Tyrion did something he’d never done before, he slapped his sister. “You are no queen. You are a caged lion, the louder you roar, the harder you’re beaten into silence. Know your place, or you’ll get every one of us killed!”

That shut her up. Cersei fell silent probably from shock, and then said a few moments later, “Where are my children? Did my Kingsguard remain loyal?”

“Preston Greenfield did, he arrived at Casterly Rock with Joffrey only a few days after I left. I received a raven from Father. Apparently Ser Preston said you instructed him along with Boros Blount and Meryn Trant to smuggle your children out of the city.” Tyrion raised a questioning eyebrow at his sister. “And how in seven hells did you discover Robert’s plans?”

Tyrion thought he saw his sister smile, “Varys isn’t the only one with little birds,” she said. “And did you truly expect me to let my children be taken by that oaf, so he could torture or kill them at his whim? Of course not! But where are Myrcella and Tommen? You said Joff’s safe?” Tyrion heard the fear in Cersei’s voice, and to his surprise, he thought he saw tears swimming in her green eyes.

“Joffrey is fine, but he did manage to break his arm somehow. Unfortunately, it seems the other two were captured before they could escape. A letter came from Myrcella before I left. It was clearly written by Stannis, but it did say she and her brother were safe. I’m sorry, but I didn’t see either of them when I spoke with the King.”

Cersei looked back at him suddenly, “You talked to Robert? What did he say?”

_He said he’ll strike your pinched little head off your cuckolding body._ But instead he said, “He refused my offer to pay your and Jaime’s ransoms.”

Cersei was silent again, her figure was motionless. “He’s going to kill us. Both of us, won’t he?”

Tyrion sighed, he wished he had some wine to wet his throat. “There’ll be a trial, and if you’re found guilty and if Father doesn’t intervene, you’ll probably be executed by the King’s Justice.” It would be hard to deal with Jaime’s death, but in his heart he’d known this day would come.

“Father will intervene though, won’t he? He has all the Westerlands at his back.” There was a certain note of pleading in her voice that Tyrion found unnerving. He had never heard his sister sound so desperate before.

“You aren’t the only caged lion, sweet sister. Our father can do very little from his prison at Casterly Rock. If he raises the banners, Robert will crush him with an army thrice his size. If he comes to the Red Keep to bargain for your life at the foot of the king, he will seem weak in front of the entire realm. Indeed, there is very little we captured lions can do, except pace about our cage and wait. Eventually, our captors focus will shift elsewhere, and the bars of our prison will grow rusty and brittle. And do you know what will happen next, sweet sister?” Tyrion smiled at the disgraced queen, “We will roar!”

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Tyrion could have sworn his sister was smiling, “Hear me Roar.”

Tyrion turned to leave the room, but over his shoulder he replied, “We will never forget. A Lannister always pays their debts.” And with that he left his sister in the cells beneath the Red Keep.


	14. Myrcella III

The Maidenvault was a small, squat keep set behind the Royal Sept. Her chambers were comfortable enough, if a bit cramped. They even had a few windows overlooking the Godswood. She and Tommen didn’t lack for any comforts; servants brought them everything they asked for. Myrcella often caught them looking at her and Tommen with pity. By all appearances it was a charmed life, but Myrcella knew they were prisoners.

Guards watched them constantly. They stood in the doorways and wouldn’t let anyone in or out without permission. Myrcella felt eyes on her all the time; as she took her meals with Tommen, as she practiced her needlework, even the servants watched her as she prepared herself for bed. The days blended together; there was only so much to do in the Maidenvault. But the worst part of their imprisonment wasn’t boredom or the constant feeling of being under scrutiny. No, it was the fact that Myrcella had no idea what was going on outside or any clue what would become of her and Tommen.

The only person from her old life who would visit at all was Uncle Renly ( _no, Lord Renly now_ , Myrcella reminded herself) but he never told them what was happening beyond vague statements, and his visits had become less and less frequent. Just a week ago (or had it been longer?) Tommen had broken down in tears, asking when they would be allowed to leave and see Mother and Father or even Joffrey again. Myrcella had tried to comfort him, but her promises had sounded empty even to her ears. The servants had been no help; only looking on with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension. Myrcella wished she could be of more help to her brother, but he didn’t help matters by being such a baby all the time.

Myrcella sighed and put down the book she had been attempting to read. _The Rogue Prince, or, A King's Brother_ by Archmaester Glydayn was a ponderous tome, but one of the few interesting books that had been left for her. However, the text was sometimes too difficult for her and she was forced to skip words that she didn’t know. As a result, she sometimes couldn’t figure out what the Archmaester was talking about, and her mind was prone to wander. She was just about to get up from her seat, when the door was opened and the monotony of the day was shattered.

Two Baratheon guards entered the Maidenvault’s common room flanking a woman.   For a moment Myrcella didn’t know who she was, until she recognized her mother. The changes in her appearance shocked her. Gone was the usual proud expression, replaced by a dull haunted look in her eyes. Her once carefully styled hair had deteriorated into golden tangles, and her beautiful rich gowns had been replaced by a simple grey shift. But it was still her mother.

“Mother!” Myrcella cried as she ran to embrace her. She was a little surprised to realize she was crying as she hugged her. She was even more astonished to see tears in the Queen’s eyes.

“Oh my darling Cella, thank the gods you’re safe, I was so worried,” Mother murmured as she ran her hands through Myrcella’s golden curls.   And then Tommen was with them, and Myrcella was being squeezed between them as her mother clutched at her youngest child.   But it was all good, because they were together again.

When they finally broke apart, Myrcella had a hundred questions she wanted to ask her mother, but she didn’t want to upset Tommen. She decided on the most basic first. “What happened to you?”

“The King’s men arrested me for treason and took me to the Black Cells,” Cersei answered cooly.

“And… and what they said about you and Uncle Jaime… is it true?” Myrcella asked hesitantly. She had to know, she had to hear it from her mother’s lips in order to truly believe it.

But the Queen only smiled sadly. “I was already pronounced guilty at the trial. I’m afraid the execution is tomorrow. They let me see you one last time before, well…” she trailed off, absentmindedly stroking Tommen’s hair.

_No! How could they? Uncle Renly had promised that he would get the King to be merciful! This can’t happen! They couldn’t do this!_ She sat in stunned silence unable to move or speak.

But Tommen let out a small shriek and clutched at their mother again. He was sobbing uncontrollably now. Mother held him close, patting his back.

She looked at Myrcella, tears threatening to fall. “I’m so sorry about all this; it’s all my fault. I’ve put you in so much danger, I’m sorry.”

Myrcella could only sit numbly as she tried to process this impossibility. _Mother can’t die, she just can’t!_

The Queen took several deep breaths and seemed to collect herself. Gently, she pushed Tommen away from her until he was at an arm’s length. “I want you two to remember something whatever happens. You are lions of Casterly Rock. You are proud and you are strong. No matter what, you must keep that strength inside you. A lion doesn’t show fear; a lion doesn’t care what others say. We are lions and we are strong.

“When I was a girl at Casterly Rock, there was a caged lion in the cellars that my grandfather had kept. I remember playing with Jaime down there. He was never as brave as I was; I would reach through the bars to yank its tail, and dart back before it could get me. It always watched us though, probably thinking ‘One day I’ll show those two little kids’…” Cersei continued on telling stories from when she was little. Myrcella knew she was just trying to keep their spirits up, but she appreciated it all the same.

They sat like that for a while, oblivious to the eyes that watched them, until finally a guard coughed. “We’ve got to take you back to your cell now,” he said, almost apologetically.

Cersei Lannister rose, hugged her children one last time and allowed the guards to separate a weeping Tommen from her. As she was taken out the door, she called over her shoulder, “Farewell my little lions. Be strong for me.”

And her mother walked out the door and out of Myrcella’s life forever.

Tommen clutched her, sobs racking his little body, but Myrcella choked her tears down. _I will be strong, Mother. I will be a Lioness like you._


	15. Stannis IV

The peal of bells rang through the city, bouncing and reverberating off the hills. Crowds jeered and yelled at the prisoners as they were led up the steps to the platform. Stannis stood at the top with the King and the rest of the Small Council. Beneath them the sea of humanity roiled and churned against the shops surrounding Mason’s Square.

Finally the last echoes of the bells died away, leaving only the low buzz of excitement from the masses waiting below. Robert stepped forward to cheers from the people. He was dressed magnificently today in rich silks, as befit a king, though Stannis noticed that the waistline of Robert’s doublet looked uncomfortably strained. The King’s golden antlered crown was prominently positioned atop his unruly mop of greying black hair.

With a flourish Robert proclaimed the treason of the Queen and her brother to the murmurs sof the waiting commoners. “They have been found guilty and will pay for their crimes!” he declared to their enthusiastic shouts.

With a sidelong glance, Stannis saw that Cersei and Jamie stood next to each other. Jamie held his sister’s hand and was whispering something in her ear. Despite over a moon’s turn in the Black Cells they still held an air of dignity. The twins looked calm as they faced their end.

_Justice will finally be served,_ Stannis thought as the former Queen was taken from her brother’s side and led to the block. She stood proud and tall as she faced her death, just as she had during her trial. She offered no defense for her actions, then or now, only staring at Robert with cold hatred. She was forced to her knees. The colorless eyes of Ilyn Payne, the King’s Justice, looked down at her indifferently. The sword swung.

Ser Jaime was next. He limped to the block with the same pride as his sister. He had not been silent during the trial, boldly declaring that had he not been lame, he would have proved their innocence in a trial by combat. _What a foolish way of determining guilt,_ Stannis thought, _to leave it up to uncaring gods to decide.   It could hardly be counted as true justice._ Nonetheless, Jaime’s skill at arms would not save him now. He would not be able to block this sword strike.

Boros Blount was led to the block, still crying his loyalty to the King just as he had during the trial. Robert had not believed him then and did not have mercy now. The knight had betrayed both the King and Queen. They had captured him when he tried to bribe a Gold Cloak to get out of the city. _Die now, coward,_ Stannis thought coldly. The Kingsguard would be well rid of cravens such as him. The blade was bloody and the block slippery; the pathetic knight’s squirmings only resulted in it taking two blows to take off his head. As it rolled, Stannis thought he saw disgust on Ilyn Payne’s normally blank face.

Finally the old Grand Maester was brought forth, stripped of his maester’s chain and robe. Stannis and Renly had been unable to prove his knowledge of the Queen’s treason, but Varys had presented evidence that he had been complicit in the murder of Jon Arryn if not the direct poisoner. _A chained maester using the Citadel’s knowledge to take a man’s life!_ The thought of it shocked Stannis, and it had been more than enough for Robert to call for his head. The sword rose and fell. The mob cheered. It was over. Their crimes had been punished; justice was achieved.

*      *      *      *      *

Stannis stood atop the ramparts the setting sun to his back. The heads of the traitors faced outward on spikes; already they had begun to fester. Stannis’ stomach turned at the smell of death and rot. He took no pleasure in their deaths unlike the masses; the traitors had received their just punishments.

“Ah, Lord Stannis, I was hoping to meet you” a smooth voice came from behind him.

Stannis turned to see Littlefinger striding up the stone steps to join him. The Master of Coin was impeccably dressed as always, not a hair out of place in the pointed beard at the end of his chin.

“Littlefinger,” Stannis muttered through clenched teeth, “what brings you here? Don’t you have some whorehouse to attend to?”

Littlefinger spread his hands in a gesture of peace. “Why Lord Stannis, it almost seems as if you didn’t value my company. I should hope that my wit and charm are well-recieved wherever I go,” he said with a silky smile.

Stannis merely grunted. He couldn’t stand the cocksure manner of the Valelord, and the man’s habit of buying brothels for profit hardly helped Stannis’ estimation of him. He was one of the many vipers King’s Landing held and was one of the most dangerous for the power he now held controlling the Realm’s treasury.

“I came to give you some free advice,” Littlefinger went on apparently oblivious to Stannis’ attempts to ignore him. “This will mean war. Tyrion Lannister’s deal was our ticket out. If only the King had been more relenting or Lord Tyrion more amenable… I tried to persuade all involved, but alas, the King held firm, and now the Lannisters will be out for blood. We have killed two of their own and sent the rest to exile on the Wall. How will Tywin Lannister respond to that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stannis replied. “We will crush Tywin Lannister if he tries to rise. We have five times his strength. All the gold in the world is useless against cold sharp steel.”

“Is it indeed? And what if he demands repayment of our loans? The Iron Bank may also demand its coin and other Essosi banks as well. I may have a good head for numbers, but even I cannot wave away millions of golden dragons. How well will your army fight if there is no coin to pay for it?

“And that’s not to mention the cost in lives that will come from war,” Littlefinger continued, “Even if you destroy the West’s armies, how many will die for it? And, at the risk of sounding too much like the Starks, winter is coming and there will be fewer hands for a last harvest. How many will starve for the sake of this folly?”

“It isn’t folly, it was justice. The laws must be followed and those that break them demand punishment. If war comes from that so be it.”

“Well,” Littlefinger said with a smile, “you can keep your justice, Lord Stannis. I prefer to have my brothels and riches.”

 


	16. Margaery

The walls of King’s Landing loomed over them as the party emerged from the Kingswood.   The muddy waters of the Blackwater flowed sedately before them; taking its time as it made its way to the Bay. Above them the hills of the city rose, crowded with the shops and homes of the smallfolk. And perched atop Aegon’s High Hill, overlooking the river’s mouth was the Red Keep. Its stones seemed to glow crimson in the late afternoon light. _It’s right up there,_ Margaery Tyrell thought, _the Iron Throne and the King._

The Tyrell host made its leisurely way north, plodding up the Kingsroad. Father had insisted on bringing hundreds of retainers and more still had joined their party as they traveled up the Roseroad.   That was not to mention the thousands of knights and men-at-arms who must accompany them to show the power and majesty of House Tyrell. Margaery just wished that the grandeur of the Reach could have moved just a bit faster. They seemed to stop at every castle and holdfast on their way; taking them nearly two turns of the moon to travel from Highgarden to King’s Landing. Margaery wanted to spur her horse and gallop ahead of the party, but that would not be becoming of the future queen of Westeros.  

Her cousins Megga, Alla, and Elinor, her ladies-in-waiting, were riding in the wheelhouse probably complaining of the jolts and bumps of the road and gossiping about the handsome knights they wished to marry. Most days Margaery would have joined them, but today was special. She would enter the city ahorse, for all the smallfolk to see and adore her. If only they would finally get there.

Margaery had wanted to be queen ever since she was little; listening to stories of Alysanne the Good and the sister queens Rhaenys and Visenya. The prospect of the power and splendor of being Queen had always excited her, not to mention the love and respect that would be due to her. _Queen Margaery Tyrell,_ she had often whispered it to herself as she lay abed. Father had told her that one day she would be queen if he could arrange it. But Grandmother had laughed when Margaery told her. _Your fool of a father couldn’t arrange a game of cyvasse; he hasn’t a political bone in his body, the oaf. Best give up that ambition now, sweetling, else you’ll end up as puffed up as your father._ But it hadn’t mattered, she was at King’s Landing and she would be Queen.

Up ahead she spied a group of riders under the King’s banner. They appeared to be an escort party not more than a dozen in number. As they approached, Margaery made out the livery of Baratheon guards behind a finely dressed lord who was conversing animatedly with a knight of the Kingsguard. To Margaery’s surprise she realized that the Kingsguard was none other than her brother Loras.

“Loras!” she cried, throwing caution to the winds and rushing to him. Margaery had not seen her favorite brother in over six moons since he had left Highgarden for court. Not that she didn’t love Willas and Garlan in their own ways, but Loras was different. They had been inseparable as children, being only a year and some months’ difference in age, constant companions in their games and merriment. But then he had gone off to Storm’s End to squire and had returned to Highgarden only infrequently and always with a seeming longing to be gone again. And when he had been made a knight (at the young age of five and ten, no less) and returned home, Margaery had found him changed. To be sure, in many respects he was still the same brother who had played dress-up with her in their mother’s wardrobe, but he seemed more reserved somehow, keeping her at a distance. He had been back hardly two moons when he had left for King’s Landing.

Loras laughed as she burst from the party in her eagerness to greet him. “Well met, little sister,” he chortled as she reached him, breathless.

“Loras!” she protested good-naturedly, swinging off her horse, “You didn’t tell us you would be meeting us so soon! And wearing a white cloak too! When did that happen? Tell me verything!” Margaery hugged him quickly, and then looked at her brother expectantly.

“Well, I had to have some surprise for my favorite sister,” he said with an easy laugh.

“I’m your only sister, you dummy,” she said, smiling nonetheless.

“Very true; your wit has grown as great as your beauty, sweet sister,” Loras said with a chuckle and a smirk. He produced a white rose from his saddlebag and presented it to her with a graceful bow. “To the most beautiful woman of the Realm, Lady Margaery Tyrell.” Margaery laughed, and accepted the rose with mock solemnity.

The young lord seated on his horse nearby interrupted with a small cough. Smiling, he said “Well Loras, it seems as though your sister is just as charming as you have said, but perhaps the rest of us may want to be introduced to such a lovely young lady.”

“Of course. Margaery, this is my good friend Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm’s End. Renly, may I present my delightful and beautiful sister, Lady Margaery Tyrell.”

Margaery was taken aback for a startled moment, then recovering, she dropped into a polite curtsy. Lord Renly certainly had changed since she had seen him years ago when he had come to Highgarden with Loras. He had always been handsome, but he had filled out a bit more; the lanky youth becoming a well-muscled young man. In addition, he had grown a short beard, which suited his face well. Lord Renly’s blue eyes twinkled with merriment as he had Loras exchanged some private joke.

The rest of the Tyrell host caught up with them and Lord Renly greeted her father courteously, offering to escort them to the Red Keep. Lord Tyrell accepted graciously, and they rode through the River Gate together under Baratheon and Tyrell banners. And though Margaery waved and smiled at the cheering crowds, she was unable to keep her attention from wandering back to Lord Renly for very long.

*      *      *      *      *

Margaery stood outside the large doors to the Great Hall, her stomach a bundle of nerves and excitement. This was it, she was about to be presented to the King. Nervously, Margaery glanced down at her low cut dress one more time, fidgeting with the hem. It was green silk with gold trimmings, the Tyrell colors. Her father stood at her side, ready to escort her up the hall. His suit was well tailored in the same colors, but Margaery saw it fit a little too tightly. He smiled at her encouragingly when he caught her eye. The doors swung open. It was time.

As they made their way to the Iron Throne in the distance, Margaery forced herself to admire the hall and the hunting tapestries hanging from the walls. They were nice enough, she supposed, but Willas had told her that the skulls of the Targaryen dragons had once lined the hall. That would certainly have been more imposing.

The Red Keep was not as beautiful as Highgarden, with its white marble spires and fields of golden roses. The reddish stones were not as pleasing to look upon, and the towers seemed almost like ugly spikes jabbing the sky in comparison. And of course it was set amongst by the noisy, stinking city of King’s Landing, not the wide expanse of natural beauty that surrounded Highgarden. And yet there was something of an imposing majesty about the castle. An aura of power came from it, seeming to say: _I am here and I will rule you._

The same was true of the Iron Throne, Margaery saw as they drew nearer to it. It was certainly not what anyone would call pretty, a hulking monstrosity of melded iron and sharp barbs, but it radiated authority as it loomed over the rest of the hall. And perched atop its spikes was the King.

Margaery swallowed nervously, it would all come down to this. She saw Loras standing at the foot of the Throne, guarding the King. He smiled at her, and gave her a wink as she approached. Lord Renly was there, and her heart gave a flutter despite her wishes.

And then they were there. Margaery curtsied before the King as the Herald announced her and her father. Rising up, she got her first look at the man who would be her husband. He was fat. There was no way around that.   His waist was stretched even tighter than her father’s. His once well-muscled arms (or so she had been told) had declined into flab. His bushy beard was streaked with gray. Margaery saw no sign of the Demon of the Trident only a fat old man. But the golden crown sat atop his head.

“Your Grace,” her father was saying, “might I introduce my maiden daughter, Margaery. She has heard much of your valor and strength and has long wished to see you.”

The King’s ruddy face was laughing jovially as he japed with Father. As Margaery looked more closely she saw some similarities to his younger brother, Renly. They had the same blue eyes, and their smiles were similar in shape. But by the gods, was he fat. The thought of marrying him, much less what would come after, made her slightly queasy.

Suddenly, she realized that the King was looking at her; with a start of embarrassment she realized he had asked her a question. Only half knowing what she was saying, she spoke of being in awe at the splendor and magnificence of court. The King laughed genially and turned back to her father, but Margaery noticed that he often glanced back at her. His eyes seemed to roam her body, as if appraising her. He also appeared fascinated by the low cut of her dress, staring at her chest when he addressed her. Margaery felt her face redden and heat rising to her cheeks as she tried to maintain her composure without stammering.

*      *      *      *      *

Back in her new chambers that night Margaery thought about the events of the day. Megga and Elinor were chatting animatedly about the excitement of court and how much fun they would have with the new knights and lords. Alla was brushing Margaery’s hair humming softly to herself. Margaery looked at her young cousin through the mirror. “And what did you think of the capital, Alla?” she asked.

“Oh, it was grand, I suppose,” the girl said with a start. “But I think it’s a little big for me.”

“Yes, it can be overwhelming,” Margaery nodded sympathetically.

Margaery looked back at herself in the reflective glass. Large brown eyes stared back at her, framed in smooth ivory skin. Long curling brown hair settled on her shoulders as Alla worked. She knew she was pretty, at least everyone told her so. But the scene in the throne room today had been… uncomfortable to say the least. She had felt like a juicy piece of meat the way the King had been staring at her.  He seemed to be licking his chops in his anticipation to devour her. The thought of it made her shudder slightly.

As she lay in her bed that night waiting for sleep, fantasies of being queen returned to her. She was sitting atop the Iron Throne surveying the entire hall as they paid their respects to her. But when she looked to her side, it was not Robert sitting next to her, but Renly. _If only the other brother were King._  



	17. Jon

Laughter rang across the old battlefield. The late afternoon sun was shining brightly, glistening off the muddy waters of the Trident. The wolf pup scampered playfully after the stick Jon had just tossed. A flagon of summerwine was passed around and all four drank deeply.

Ghost came running back to Jon, the stick clamped tightly in his mouth. Jon tried to pull it away, but Ghost was not letting go, only too happy to play tug of war with his master. As Jon struggled with his direwolf pup, a lazy drawl came from behind him.

“You’ve got to train that wolf of yours better, Snow. Keep up like that and it’ll end up as wild and unmannered as you.” Theon Greyjoy lazed on the banks of the river twiddling an arrow through his fingers.

“Shut up, Theon, I know what I’m doing. I don’t need your help.” Jon responded irritably as he wrestled with Ghost who was now playfully attacking him.

“See, that’s what I mean,” Theon said unconcernedly, as Ghost’s claws raked Jon’s arm. “You’re rude and don’t know how to speak to your betters. Why Lord Stark brought an ungrateful bastard along with him, I’ll never know.”

“Oh give him a break, Theon,” Cley Cerwyn said, “I’ll bet you ten stags you can’t shoot those crows up there.” He pointed to a nearby tree where three crows cawed noisily.

“Easy,” Theon said unslinging his bow. He measured the distance with his eyes, cocking back the longbow. With a fluid motion he drew and fired the arrow into the tree. It landed amidst the branches a good ten yards beneath where the lowest crow perched.

“Ha! You missed!” Cley said triumphantly. But Theon wasn’t done yet. His first shot had caused the birds to rise into the air in alarm. Another arrow was notched and ready as they came flying overhead. One crow suddenly crumpled and fell to the ground an arrow piercing its breast.

Theon cleared his throat noisily. Cley sighed and got out his coin pouch, grumbling all the while. Theon pocketed his coin and took another gulp from the wine pitcher. A bit dribbled down his chin and onto the black silk doublet he was wearing staining the gold kraken emblazoned there. Theon cursed loudly.

Jon finally got the stick away from Ghost and stood up panting heavily, blood was flowing freely from his arm. Ghost looked at him expectantly. Jon sighed, and threw the stick as far as he could. The white wolf bounded after it. Tearing strips from his wrecked sleeve to make a crude bandage, Jon made his way over to where the three other boys sat.

“What ya thinking about, Rod?” he asked the lean-faced youth who had been staring off into the river.

“Lynessa,” Rodwell Stout said with a sigh.

_Of course,_ Jon thought rolling his eyes. Rodwell was in love with Lynessa Ryswell, eldest daughter of Lord Roger Ryswell. The Stouts were a modest house with a keep near Barrowton, but being a younger son of a younger son, Rodwell was not a prestigious match for such a highborn lady. As such, Rodwell was determined to prove his worth in battle and return north to marry his love. Jon had heard the young man wax poetic about her ever since he had joined them at Moat Cailin.

“What you need is a good fuck with a couple whores,” Theon said with a characteristic smirk. “That’ll cure you of this love nonsense. You’ll soon learn one woman is as good as any other, why spend your time thinking about one you can’t have when you can go out and get others?”

Rodwell reddened furiously but responded defiantly nonetheless. “I won’t sully my vows of love to Lynessa by bedding a cheap whore. Our love will endure despite our trials and we will be stronger for it. Our love goes beyond mere tastes of flesh.”

Theon just smiled. “Well, suit yourself I suppose. More for me that way. Pass the wine, Cley.”

Cley held out the flagon for his friend. He was also lost in thought, gazing out at the fords, but he clearly had different things on his mind. “Isn’t it amazing,” he said some time later, “that here we are right where Robert won his crown? Just imagine being there at the battle. Right here, armies clashed and fought. And over there,” he said pointing to the ford, “Robert and Rhaegar met in single combat until Robert smashed the Dragon Prince’s chest with his warhammer scattering rubies everywhere.”

As Cley spoke, Jon saw the battle in his mind’s eye. The glint of steel, the flash of arms, the banners rustling in the wind. And Robert and Rhaegar fighting for the woman they both loved. It must have been a magnificent sight to witness such a battle, and even more glorious to have fought in it. He wondered why his father didn’t speak of it more often.

“I hope we’ll see some action soon,” he said ruffling Ghost’s fur. Jon hoped he would soon demonstrate his worth to his father and earn some respect from those such as Theon who called him “bastard” and “Snow.” He would win his name in battle and prove those who had doubted his merit, wrong.

He and the others were lost in the fantasies of their coming glory, and the songs that would be sung of them in the years to come, when a rider came galloping up. It was Jory Cassel, Father’s captain of the guard. He ordered them back to camp with all haste.

Bemused, the four boys gathered their belongings and hurried back to camp with Jory. When they arrived, Jon found his father pacing anxiously in front of his tent. He seemed worried about something.

“Good, you’re back,” he said with a smile when he saw Jon. “Come in here.” Jon followed his father into the tent. It was sparsely furnished, besides a simple cot, the only furniture was a table and chair and Lord Eddard’s personal trunk. Jon saw a scroll unrolled on the table.

“Did you receive a raven?” he asked.

His father nodded grimly. “From King’s Landing. Dark wings, dark words. Cersei’s been executed, raiders in the Riverlands, and Robert wants to throw a bloody tourney.”


	18. Myrcella IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Sorry for the slight delay. This was originally going to be a Stannis chapter, but I figured we needed to see what was going on with Myrcella and Tommen. I had an interesting time writing this, as I tried to build off of the scant details GRRM gives us about religion in the books (*grumbles quietly*). Anyway I hope you enjoy and don't hesitate to comment. Feedback is always appreciated!

Myrcella gazed longingly out the window to the fenced garden road beyond. It was so close, just a few feet, and yet she knew she could never reach it. Resignedly, she turned back to the task at hand, scrubbing the rough stone of the motherhouse floor. Her hands were soaked and wrinkled and her legs ached from kneeling on the cold stones for so long. The simple white shift she was forced to wear was drenched. And to make matters worse, she had only come halfway down the hallway. _Hard work is a form of prayer,_ Septa Loraine had said, _it teaches us humility before the gods._

 _You are no longer a princess_ , Loraine’s words rang in her head, _you are a bastard born of incest, and a shame to the gods._ The Mother of the house would never miss an opportunity to belittle and mock Myrcella. She would give Myrcella the hardest chores, the most demeaning jobs, all in the name of teaching Myrcella her proper place in the world.

But Myrcella didn’t want to be humble; she wanted to be free of this prison. _I am a lioness, no matter what they tell me! I am not meant to be shut away like a common house cat!_ How dare they break all their promises and lock her up in a glorified dungeon! The fury at what they’d done to her consumed her. Myrcella attacked the floor with newfound ferocity as she thought of the way they had wronged her.

Lord Stannis had said that if she cooperated with them she wouldn’t be separated from her brother and Lord Renly had promised her that he would make sure her mother and uncle were not harmed.   But they had never really cared about her, she now saw through their lies. In a way the King had been the only one who had not deceived her, his refusal to see her and her brother was perhaps the most honest thing anyone had done, seeing as how they all deserted them afterwards.

And what had they done to Tommen? They said he was nearby in a local septry, but Myrcella hadn’t been allowed to go beyond the gates of the motherhouse, much less visit him. Septa Loraine told her that she must stay here until she had said her septa’s vows, and even then she would not be able to travel as she wished, only with the Septa’s express permission, and Loraine would never let Myrcella do anything she wanted. It wasn’t fair! Tommen was her brother for the gods’ sakes! She should be able to see what her baby brother was doing! All she wanted was to hold him again, to run her fingers through his curls and to hear his bubbling laugh as they played.  

Myrcella didn’t realize she was crying, tears falling into the washbucket, until a comforting hand was placed on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw the kindly face of Septa Alicent. The septa smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry little one. I know it can be hard for new initiates, especially those who didn’t choose to join our order.” Alicent held out a hand to help her up. “I’ll tell Loraine that you’ve gone back to your cell. Your evening meal will be sent to you there. I’ve often found some that some peaceful and solitary prayer will help calm the soul.”

Myrcella clutched at the septa’s grey robes as she sobbed into her shoulder. The older woman held her whispering soothing words and stroking Myrcella’s golden locks. Myrcella hated herself for the tears she spent. Why was she crying? She was supposed to be a lioness, to be strong and not show any fear! This was shameful! What would her mother think if she could see Myrcella now? But she couldn’t help herself, the tears would not stop.

Myrcella only came back to herself when she had been deposited on the small cot in her cell. The room was small and sparsely furnished, as befit a young initiate, only the cot and a chest holding spare shifts along with a copy of _The Seven-Pointed Star._

Alicent looked down with a sad smile. “I’ll leave you to your prayer little one,” she said moving slowly to the door.

Myrcella sat up, “Wait! I just want to see my brother! Can’t I see Tommen one more time?” Her voice quavered and she cursed herself for sounding weak.

Septa Alicent looked sad; if Myrcella didn’t know better she might think the septa had tears in her eyes. “I…I’ll see what I can do, little one,” and made as if to leave. Then she turned back, mouth opened as if to speak, but just as suddenly she seemed to change her mind again and quickly left the room.

Myrcella tried to pray, she really did, but the words would come. Once, when she was a princess, she had practiced her embroidery to calm down and relax, but that was forbidden to her as a bastard initiate. She sighed, and took out her copy of _The Seven-Pointed Star_. It was the only book she had been allowed to bring with her from King’s Landing all the rest she had been forced to leave behind. The pages fell open to the Maiden’s Book. Myrcella was not the best reader, but she knew what it said. After all, she and the other girls had to learn most of the Maiden’s hymns to recite for their morning prayers. Myrcella knew maidens were supposed to be chaste and demure and above all to remain pure. But Mother hadn’t been any of that; she was a lioness, fierce and strong.

_And the Maiden looked down upon the enemy force, and had pity for them, for they had not heard the teachings of the Seven and knew not what evils they did.   And so the Maiden showed the foe mercy and kept them from hurt so that they might be spared and brought into the light of the Seven who are One. And in this way the Maiden gave the Andals the Gift of Mercy and taught the chosen people to forgive those who had done them harm._

Myrcella closed the book with a snap. How could she forgive the King and Lord Stannis and Lord Renly and all the rest for what they had done to her and Tommen? How could she forgive them for locking her away to spend the rest of her life as a septa, to watch her youth and beauty fade to dust and grow as old and wrinkled as Loraine? How could she forgive them for taking her life away from her? No, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. Her mother wouldn’t have stood by and let such things be done to her, and neither would she. She was a lioness and she would make them pay for what they had done to her.

Resolved, she knelt down and prayed. She prayed for a chance to one day be free of the motherhouse and to be free to go wherever and talk to whomever she pleased. She prayed to be able to see Tommen and rescue him from his imprisonment. She swore to all seven gods that one day she would get her revenge on those who had hurt her. “King Robert, Lord Stannis, Lord Renly…” she whispered.

 _I am a lioness,_ she thought lying on her cot waiting for sleep, _and I will sharpen my claws and bide my time for a chance to escape this cage. And when I am free, I will turn my claws on my enemies and they will feel my rage._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited for more identity issues


End file.
